Heartbeats
by QueenSoledad
Summary: It is a strange sort of rhythm, as constant and merciless as the tick of a clock's hands, that brings them together only to pull them apart time and again. As painful as it is, though, each time he stands within her arms he thanks the cruel stars that align them here, pulsing together as one perfect beat in a mad, crumbling universe if only for a moment longer. (Elvhenan AU)
1. Chapter 1

Morinthe was a nug on a hot stove fighting a cat, who, rather than just finishing off her victim, was contented to bat it around for her amusement. She was shoved butt-first to the ground for the fifth time since they'd started their little spar. Morinthe grunted in pain, grinding her teeth together upon impact.

The green lines that ran along Ashani's face wrinkled as she laughed at her again. The moon faced woman wasn't beautiful, but she did have a sort of charm about her, particularly when she was giggling like mad.

"Your stance is weak," she chided. "You'll fall every time like that. If I were really trying to kill you, you'd have been dead an hour ago."

Morinthe dusted the dirt off of her slacks and rose to her feet once again. Every muscle, joint, and bruise screamed in protest, but she quickly took position and raised her sword.

Ashani shook her head, and the rust colored knot of hair at the top of her head bobbed slightly as she did so. "Perhaps we should stop for today."

"No," Morinthe insisted, her eyes narrowing. "One more time."

"If you insist." she conceded.

Ashani repositioned herself on the other side of the dirt sparring ring. She towered over Morinthe, and, even without armor, the arcane warrior was a force of nature. Morinthe pitied anyone one the wrong side of her blade in an actual fight.

She kept her green eyes narrowed as the woman charged her. Morinthe flawlessly deflected the attack, and a victorious grin cut across her cheeks. Ashani then kicked her legs out from under her, and _again_ she tumbled to the ground.

"That's all for today." Ashani repeated, her tone firm. She wouldn't be able to convince another round out of her this time.

Morinthe's brown hair fell out of its tie and into her face. She attempted to blow it aside and failed, so she stood up as straight as she could in an attempt to preserve whatever small amount of dignity she had left.

"Pavel asked for your help in the kitchens tonight," Ashani said as Morinthe handed over the practice sword. "Finish with him, then get some rest. I still expect to see you at sunrise tomorrow, if the heavens favor us."

Morinthe glanced warily upward. A few miles away, the clouds were thick and dark enough to turn the sky black, and they were getting closer by the hour.

"As you say, _ha'hren._ " Morinthe replied with a half-bow. Ashani nodded, collecting her bag from a bench on the opposite side of the courtyard. "Ashani?"

"Yes, Morinthe?" she answered, glancing over her shoulder.

"Could we go out into woods again soon?" she asked softly. Morinthe braced herself for the answer to her request as if she expected it to be a slap.

"I was considering it, yes." Ashani agreed with a warm smile. "We shall see."

" _Ma serranas_." she breathed, bowing again.

"Morinthe!" Ashani scolded. "We're supposed to make you into a snotty noble woman. You mustn't be so polite to a lowly soldier."

"I'm sorry," Morinthe stuttered.

"Absolutely hopeless," Ashani sighed, shaking her head. "You're far too nice for this life,"

Morinthe scowled deeply, but only on the inside. "I'll see you tomorrow then, _ha'hren_."

"Tomorrow _da'len_." Ashani agreed.

Morinthe scooped her own bag up from the bench, tying it back onto her belt.

All of the other dirt sparring rings were empty now; the rest of the guards had already either retired or gone to their posts for the evening. For the past hour, their audience of dilapidated, straw-filled practice dummies had been the only ones to witness her continuous failure to grasp even the simplest of basic maneuvers. They were better company than the ones who talked and made bets on her, at least.

She passed the rings and under the grand, golden archway that, years ago, she would've gazed upon in endless wonder. That was the nature of Elvhenan, however - in an empire overflowing with riches, even the most beautiful of artisanship was rendered mundane.

Despite the extravagance of the temple, it was actually comparatively small and plain when placed next to the others that dotted Elvhenan. There weren't many of the faithful in this far flung place on the edge of the Empire. Even though it was easily accessible by Eluvian, few would choose to make a pilgrimage out into the middle of nowhere when they could worship in a massive palace centered in an equally magnificent city, such as Arlathan.

Walking down the halls alone, Morinthe always wanted to whistle or hum, add some obnoxious noise to abate the heavy silence of the place with something other than her own lonely footsteps. She never did though, for fear of being caught by one of the priests and scolded for her backwards, uncivilized behavior. It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

Make eye contact when someone speaks to you, _da'len_. Always keep your hands at your sides, never hide them, _da'len_. Do not be so blunt in your answers, _da'len_ , always leave some of your words up for interpretation. Do not fidget and look away so much, _da'len_. You must not appear nervous- day in and day out. It was enough to make her head spin.

She padded her way down the twisting maze of passages- a staircase here, a narrow, winding passage there. This was not only a place of worship, but the home of a god as well. An invader would be hopelessly lost within minutes- providing ample time for the residents, familiar with the labyrinthe, to make their escape. The temple's owner did not often stay here, but it was more than prepared to house and protect her should she make an appearance.

She finally arrived at the subterranean levels of the temple. This was where most of the monks, save the highest ranked among them, resided, out of the way of the worshippers who might get curious and rifle through their belongings. Unlike above, where it was all gold, priceless artifacts, and mosaics, the floors were plain hardwood and the walls a dark gray.

Morinthe found her door amongst all of the identical ones and slid it open.

Her room, though it was probably a broom closet by the standards of those she was supposed to be aspiring to, was miraculous. It was hers and hers alone, a secluded little area with a bed, mirror, and a small chest to keep her clothes- her _several_ articles of clothing- within. She even had a few shiny little treasures: a tiny crystal, a wooden bird, a paper flower, and a dragon-shaped rag doll. She'd lined them up carefully along the top of the chest at the foot of her bed.

When she collapsed down to sleep at night after hours spent honing her body and mind, it was in her own bed, by herself, not sandwiched between two people on a straw mat on the floor. Every day, when she sat up and got dressed and looked into the floor length mirror leaning against the wall, she saw a face, her face, bare and clean of the colorful chains that had been carved into her skin.

She'd served all of her life in lavish palaces like this temple. A house slave, though uneducated, saw much of the nobles' world. She'd dressed a nobleman's daughter each morning, combing through her long silvery-blonde hair with a brush decorated with pearls and emeralds set in gold, catered to feasts that lasted two weeks at a time, and polished plates, dinner ware, and valuables that, if sold, could feed an entire village for years. Still, to Morinthe, who had never before owned even the clothes on her own back, these little things most took for granted were more beautiful than any treasure in the empire.

She peeled the sweat drenched clothes off of herself, letting them drop onto the floor. Morinthe scowled at the mirror and the bony, awkward creature reflected in it. She was all elbows and knees, with gangly arms and legs. It was considered very beautiful to have a long and elegant figure, but she was too short to have that look about her, and looked more boyish and square than lithe. Her feet and hands were also, by comparison to her bone-thin arms and legs, much too large.

Out of all the young girls who'd been lined up for her master's eldest daughter to choose her lady's maid, she'd selected Morinthe immediately. It didn't take a genius to figure why- noble women always preferred a plain servant, one that could make them feel better about themselves. The noblewoman, with her complexion untouched by the sun, long hair, and aristocratic features, had been stunningly beautiful, even when she'd just risen out of bed. Not a day would pass that jealously did not burn caustically in Morinthe's breast, not only for her natural loveliness, but for the free and painless life she'd lead as well.

Morinthe swiped her hair out of her face and turned away from the treacherous glass. She carefully propped open the chest's lid, doing her best not to send all of her knick-knacks tumbling under her bed. She slipped into a threadbare linen shirt and stained pants- well suited for whatever grunt work Pavel had in plan for her tonight.

She carefully gathered her dirty clothes off of the floor, folding them into a neat pile. She set them atop her bed so that the sweat could air out some. It would take a lot of scrubbing to get the dirt out, unfortunately.

The kitchens weren't in the lower levels, but on the base floor. They were tucked away past all of the grand prayer halls and altars, and, as opposed to open hallways that connected most of the other rooms, it was hidden behind a small wooden door.

There were five adjoining sections in this little wing of the temple, built to prepare feasts to feed, potentially, thousands of guests. On most days, however, they only needed one to satisfy the hundred or so denizens of the temple.

Before she even opened the door, she could already hear the clattering of pans and loud cursing. Morinthe nudged open the door, peeking tentatively around the corner to make sure she didn't get hit in the face by any projectiles.

A red-faced, heavy man with bushy brows, was huffing and puffing in the middle of the room, staring hopelessly at the pile of dinnerware and pans at his feet. He had the signature shaved head of a devoted follower of a god- for some reason, the priests believed that the two minutes it would take to style their hair in the morning would detract from rituals that usually lasted decades at a time. He had small, beady eyes, and jowls like a great, sad dog.

Pavel hissed a few more words that Morinthe was quite certain a monk should never say. She giggled at the heresy of the thing, and that drew his attention to her. He huffed indignantly, kicking one of the dozen pans he'd managed to drop. His ears turned cherry red.

"You asked for me _hren_?" Morinthe said, trying her best to restrain her shaking voice for his sake.

"Yes, that I did _da'ean_ ," he sighed, shaking his head. He withdrew a handkerchief, which he always kept somewhere stashed away in his robes, and dabbed at his shining forehead. "They've left this all to me again. The high priests are all locked away in the sanctum in a meeting with our lady, and the servants are preparing her quarters. You'd think they'd have learned by now not to trust me with this cleaning business."

"Mythal is here tonight?" Morinthe squeaked. No one had said anything to her, and a visit from the goddess was never a casual affair. Normally, the entire temple would be talking about it days before she ever even arrived if Mythal announced that she planned to show.

"Yes, yes _ean_ ," he said, waving a large hand at her. He bent over at the waist, grappling for the pans on the floor futilely. " _Mythal enaste!_ Help me!"

Morinthe quickly swept down to the floor, gathering up everything he'd managed to drop and setting it back onto the countertop in a mismatched pile. Pavel shook his head, "These things will be the death of me. One day they'll all fall down on top of me, and not even you will ever be able to find me again."

"I'm sorry," Morinthe said. "I'd have been here faster if I'd known you were going to actually try to clean anything yourself."

"A thousand years' penance for your intolerable _sass_ ," he sneered. "I can take care of this, thank you. My hand slipped."

"As you say." Morinthe laughed, holding up hands. "I won't touch them again. What would you have me do then?"

"Grab the mop, please." He asked, shooing her away from the dishes with his hands.

Morinthe dragged the mop and the bucket out of the broom closet. She set the tin in the sink and turned on the tap- one of June's newer, exclusive inventions- letting it fill. She took a pair of the smooth gray stones from the drawstring bag beneath the sink, channeled a bit of her mana through them, and let them sink to the bottom as they turned bright orange.

"Has anyone told you why she's come so suddenly?" Morinthe asked as she watched Pavel scrub furiously away at another plate.

"Urgent business," He replied flatly.

"So they haven't told you anything, then?" Morinthe surmised, idly watching the bubbles in the water start to rise faster and faster.

He cursed again. "Of course they haven't. Do you think I'd be in here washing the filth off their plates if the high priests gave a damn about what I think?"

"Not likely." Morinthe agreed. "I'm certain you'll have your chance to get out of the kitchens one day, though."

"I used to think so too, a couple thousand years ago." Pavel huffed. "I've learned to take it all with a sense of humor. Some people aren't meant to go very far in life, _ean_."

"You certainly won't if that's the attitude you're going to have about it." Morinthe said, rolling her eyes. She quickly dipped her finger into the bucket, and, finding it plenty hot enough, immediately withdrew with a pained hiss. Popping said finger into her mouth, she took up the pair of tongs hanging on the wall and fished the stones out of the water, which immediately grew cool as they emerged. She poured the soap in next, and then set the pail down onto the stone floor.

"You're the handpicked future agent of a goddess, destined to play in the machinations of the most powerful men and women in the empire." Pavel scoffed. "We all have our own lots in life. Unfortunately, mine's not as exciting as yours, Morinthe."

"Or, perhaps," he continued, holding the plate up to his face for closer examination. "I'm the luckier one."

"Hmmp," Morinthe grunted as she sloshed the water across the floor. "I imagine being a dish-washing monk is far less hazardous, generally."

"Indeed," he replied. "And there's far less at stake should I fail."

" _Ma serannas_ ," Morinthe muttered, forcefully pushing at the water once again. Better to take her frustration out on the dirt and soot all over the floor than anything - or anyone - else. "I'd nearly forgotten."

"Watch your tone, _da'len_." He chuckled. "I am a fool, no doubt, but I'm an older fool than you."

Morinthe was interrupted in her grimacing by a tremendous clap of thunder. The entire room was aglow with the blue light from outside.

Pavel got a decent laugh out of the way Morinthe jumped at the sudden noise.

She went to the window, squinting through the smoke-stained glass at the hazy darkness. The rain was coming down, not in tiny droplets, but in sheets of sleet and heavy, fat globs of water. It was the heavenly equivalent of a small child screaming and crying her eyes out with a river of snot and tears rolling down her face.

"That's a nightmare," she murmured. "I pity anyone stuck out in that."

"You'll be pitying yourself, soon." He grunted, gesturing down to the bucket.

Indeed, the once clear water had already turned murky and dark. At this point, anything she tried to wash with that would only get dirtier.

She, with a defeated sigh and shaking arms, lifted the bucket by the handle and crab-walked her way over to the door on the opposite side of the room. Morinthe nudged it open with her shoulder.

Outside was a small, marble veranda, protected from the torrential downpour by an overhang above. The short set of steps that lead down to the gardens beyond were cut off by a waterfall of runoff pouring down from the roof.

There wasn't much light at all, now, and she could hardly see her own feet as she shuffled toward the edge of the porch. She lifted the bucket up, sloshing more of the muddy liquid on her own feet and pants as she did so. She, first, got a better grip, and then prepared to dump it over.

She slowly swung the bucket forward, stepping into the movement as she gained momentum. Her foot landed on something warm, wet, and furry.

Morinthe yelped and dropped the bucket to the floor. She, and whatever was snarling at her, were both covered in dirty, lukewarm water. The creature had been hidden in the shadow of a column beside her, probably sleeping until she'd stepped on it and landed a pail on its head.

She saw, now, the razors in its maw, which shined in the low light as its lips drew back and its ears flattened against its head. Morinthe wasted no time- she immediately spun on her heel, flung the door back open, and slammed it closed behind her.

Her heart was soaring in her ears, jumping like a dog whose ass had been set on fire. Morinthe stood there, back pressed firmly against the door for fear that whatever was on the other side- a bear, a boar, a dragonling?- would tear it down.

"Morinthe!" Pavel sputtered, brow raised. "What's possessed you now?"

"There's a-" Morinthe gasped, her mind scrambling for words. "A-a thing, outside! It's, it's…"

"Oh, if you can't be bothered to do it yourself, say so." Pavel sighed in exasperation, lumbering over toward her. "That's enough of this. Move."

"No!" Morinthe shouted, shaking her head. "You can't! Please!"

"Creators, child." Pavel said, grasping her by the shoulders. "Be calm! Tell me what you saw."

"I'm not certain," Morinthe murmured, finally getting a hold on her erratic breath. "It was an animal of some kind. I stepped on it, and it was, um, not pleased."

Pavel laughed, rolling his eyes. "Probably just a dog trying to get out of the rain. You must have startled each other, _da'ean_."

"It was bigger than a dog." Morinthe insisted.

"A wolf then, perhaps." Pavel amended, gently moving her aside. "Let's have another look. Perhaps you've scared it off."

Morinthe caught the whimper of protest in her throat as he opened the door again.

Pavel's face drained completely of color, and his squinty eyes went wide. He slammed it back shut nearly as quickly as he'd opened it.

He pulled her away from the door, locked it, and then dragged over a nearby cupboard to block it off. Morinthe had no idea the man had such strength; the terrified look on his face reminded her of stories of mothers who pushed work animals off of their children.

Pavel grasped her by the wrist and fiercely tugged her out of the kitchens and down the hallway.

* * *

Morinthe shivered in silence as Pavel panic strickenly whispered back and forth with Ashani. They both did their best to keep their voices down. No one ever actually spoke in the high-ceilinged, echoing halls- particularly not at night.

Even so, she couldn't imagine what they were worried about. The thunder from outside was more than enough to drown them out.

"You are certain it was a demon?" Ashani asked, as calm and collected as ever. She had to be- she was the captain of the temple's sentinels after all. It was strange to see her dressed only in her night clothes, odder still to see that she had the hilt of her spectral blade gripped firmly in her right hand regardless.

"You know there is no certainty in the nature of spirits," Pavel sighed. "I fear that if, in assuming it is a demon, we could provoke it in some way, turn it malicious. If it already has been twisted so, however, it could harm someone, as it might've done to Morinthe and I."

"We cannot reach the high priests now. The sanctum is sealed." Ashani said. "And to wait, while it could still be lurking around outside, is too risky."

Pavel nodded gravely. "We cannot chance that a servant may happen across it and be attacked."

"Perhaps," she offered, her brow, and the green vallaslin upon it, furrowing. "We could find a way to detain it for a short while, create a barrier until someone more equipped to handle these matters can assist us."

"A static cage, perhaps." Pavel agreed. "As long as we do not warp its purpose, the creature, be it spirit or demon, should be unharmed."

"Do you know how to create one strong enough?" Ashani prompted.

"With some assistance, yes, it should be simple enough."

"I shall assemble some of my men to track it down, and to help you when the time comes." She said with a firm nod.

"And I will prepare the spell. I will need a wide space- though I perish the thought of standing out in that torrent, the front plaza will be most ideal. When you find it, herd the creature toward there, and I will capture it then."

"As you say," Ashani said, hurrying down the hallway back toward the barracks.

Pavel made to go the opposite way, and Morinthe quickly followed after him, only for him to turn and shake his head at her.

"No, _da'len._ " he said, his joking demeanor having vanished completely. "We will handle this. Go back to your room and sleep."

Morinthe opened her mouth to protest, but she could tell by the knot above his brow that he wasn't going to budge on this. She nodded solemnly and turned away.

She felt his eyes on her until she turned the corner, presumably headed back to her bedroom. Morinthe waited one moment, then three, in complete silence. Eventually, she heard his foot steps trailing away.

Pavel was taking the most direct route to the plaza. If she was fast enough, she could circumvent his path and meet him there.

She drew upon her magic to effortlessly mask herself from view and slid along the walls without a sound. Of all of her studies, stealth was one of the two she was actually any good at.

Aside from the way Pavel was heading, the fastest path was through the ritual courtyards. Thankfully she, like every resident of the temple, knew how to skip the light puzzles.

She slipped a tiny rune from the small bag at her side, which glowed faintly blue. When she reached the first door, sealed to make sure any visitors paid their respects to Mythal before seeking justice, it opened without a hitch.

The ritual yards in this temple were rarely used. When most people felt they had been wronged and sought justice for it, they went to one of Mythal's larger temples. No one was supposed to enter this area unless an emergency dictated, but, as far as she was concerned, this was an emergency situation.

Unfortunately, the ritual yards were also outside.

She ran along what limited amounts of cover she could find, her bare feet splashing through puddles and nearly slipping on the smooth, wet tile floors many times. Somehow, she manage to make it through all of the chambers without falling on her face, breaking a leg, or being eaten by a mysterious beast.

The rain had slowed her down more than she'd expected, so, when she did reach the plaza, Pavel was already there beginning the ritual.

The plaza was what they called the large open area in front of the temple. While there were two paths that branched off toward the gardens and barracks on one side and the ritual chambers on the other, the main road lead up from the Eluvian to a set of large, marble stairs. At the top of these, the temple proudly stood.

Morinthe found a relatively dry and well hidden spot in some large, flowered bushes beneath an overhang and waited.

She knew they probably had it under control. Pavel was not the most skilled of mages, but he knew a thing or two, and Ashani could be trusted to pull them through anything. All the same, she couldn't abandon them altogether. Morinthe had to be there to watch, to wait and see if something went wrong and then… Then what? What could she, an unarmed child, hope to do?

Morinthe shook her head. Alright, maybe she really wasn't any use at all. It put her mind at ease to know, though. She wouldn't be able to just fall asleep and forget, knowing foolish old Pavel was trying to fend off a demon.

Pavel prepared the spell on the white stones, his reflection flashing across the Eluvian's surface as he lumbered about, marking the ground. His circle was loosely protected by a large, weak barrier, just enough to make sure the chalk wasn't washed away.

Like all of the elvhen, Morinthe did have some small aptitude for magic. Her affinity wasn't strong by any means, but she too could sense the static power that hummed in the air. This spell wasn't particularly strong, however, that much she could tell. Pavel could never purposefully hurt a thing, even if it was a demon.

An old fool indeed, Morinthe thought bitterly.

She kept him anonymous company for some time, though it likely felt longer than it actually was. She found herself nodding off multiple times, only to be shaken awake again by the thunder.

She heard Ashani and her men before she saw them. There were five of them together, each on the backs of hart. Three circled around to the side of the plaza near where Morinthe hid, while the other two chased a black figure into sight.

It darted through the darkness, nearly invisible as it flashed across the mosaic floor, but it stopped suddenly, falling to the ground as if it had slammed into a wall. Sparks flew into the air, paralyzing the creature. The static cage was irritating, no doubt, but, if this was indeed a spirit, it wouldn't be in any danger at all.

The beast was frozen in place, bright blue sparks leaping about its form like frenzied wisps. She still couldn't really tell what it was, but the wolf theory seemed close. Then again, it could've been a small bear too- from where she was watching, it just looked like a giant mass of fur, claws, and teeth.

"We entreat you, whether you be a spirit or a demon, to be calm and mean us no ill will." Pavel said. His voice was steady, but Morinthe could see the way he nervously clutched at his staff.

A low, visceral growl ripped through the ozone filled air. The cage began to jump and screech as the beast lashed against it, and she could not differentiate the sound of the rolling thunder from the crackling of raw power and energy. Pavel was thrown to the ground with a pained grunt.

It was obvious the cage wouldn't last out much longer, and it wasn't hard to realize who would be the first one to get his throat ripped out when it did fall.

Three things happened at once: the static cage collapsed, Morinthe screamed, and the skies grew calm.

A strange peace fell over everything. The demon stopped its attack, the hart no longer bucked, and every eye was drawn to the temple doors.

Mythal descended, her shimmering robes trailing down the steps behind her. Her golden hair was bound back away from her dark face like the horns of a dragon- truly fitting for the proud and grand way she swept along the ground, unphased by anything she saw before her.

No matter how many times they met, Morinthe would never grow used to how utterly tiny she felt in this woman's presence.

"That's enough," she said.

As she drew near, Pavel fell over himself in his haste to get out of her way. Mythal paused before the creature with her amber eyes narrowed in consideration.

The clouds above them had parted around the plaza, while the storm still raged outside their small haven. Now that the swollen moonlight could reach them, Morinthe was able, at last, to actually see the beast.

Without the darkness, it did not seem so large or menacing anymore. The wolf was actually rather thin and ragged looking, pathetic even. The poor thing was soaked to the bone and, if its heavy, grunting breaths were anything to go by, dead tired.

"I sensed something amiss in my temple the moment I arrived," Mythal drawled. "But this is… remarkably unexpected."

The beast watched the goddess with quivering blue eyes. It looked torn between bolting and remaining frozen on the spot.

"You need not be so dubious of me, pup." Mythal laughed. "Not yet, anyway. I owe you an apology on behalf of my servants. I imagine this has not been an easy evening for you."

"If we have not offended too greatly," she continued. "You may be my guest. I promise that _this will not happen again_." Though her tone was still cordial, Mythal sent her servants a stabbing sidelong glance.

The shivering creature hesitantly lifted first its front paw and then the other. It shifted upwards onto its hind legs, and she could hear its bones popping in and out of place as the wolf took a new shape.

Where the tattered wolf had been, an equally weathered young man now stood. His pale skin was covered in mud and dead leaves, and his dark hair was matted and greasy. What small amount of clothing he wore was little more than rags.

He looked like he'd been in a shipwreck and had lived on an island alone for a hundred years. Morinthe immediately became awash with guilt. This boy had obviously been through enough already, and she'd dropped a bucket on his head and sent guards chasing after him.

He watched her for a while without moving, but, eventually, he murmured something that Morinthe could not hear. Morinthe's jaw dropped as Mythal placed an arm around his grimey shoulders. The goddess lead him up the stairs and in through the temple's golden doors.

* * *

 **And so begins what shall be one of the longest damn things I have ever written. I was planning on holding off til' I'd finished writing part one of this story, but I figured I might release something early for Christmas. And no, you are not mistaken, this shall be a story about the rise and fall (and rise again?) of Fen'Harel, in all of its bloated entirety. Get ready for the adventures of a cute, problematic puppy and his friends. For now, anyway, but a small warning, THERE SHALL BE GREAT PAIN AHEAD.**

 **Disclaimer: You know, I wonder why I do this. I'm on friggin Fanfiction; I think everybody assumes that I don't own this shit. Oh well. Y'all know the drill**

 **Lots of thanks to ultrachicory for all of her help on thisson!**


	2. Chapter 2

Solas felt her, the sun, reaching out to him through the thin veil of his eyelids. He grunted in annoyance and hid his face in the silken sheets beneath him. The warm haze of sleep still clung on, coaxing him back into the dark with its honeyed tongue.

He realized something then, despite its effort, and shot up with a start.

Instead of the bare forest floor, Solas was lying in a bed in a room that could not possibly be his own.

It was spacious, round room for guests, presumably, as there was little else in it aside from the bed and a few miscellaneous pieces of furniture. To his right, there was a window, which stretched from floor to ceiling, and he could see through it an endless sea of trees.

He ran the fine material of the robes he was wearing between his thumb and forefinger with a raised brow. Stranger and stranger still.

Solas took a deep breath and stretched his long legs all the way down to the ends of his toes.

"Monkey toes…" he whispered, almost like a reflex. He frowned softly. Best not to think of that.

As he slid his stiff muscles over the side of the bed, bits and pieces of memory slowly ebbed back to him. There were some things he knew couldn't have been seen in waking: his mother taking his hand, a fresco speaking to him, and the roots of an oak tree wrapping around his neck and strangling him as he rested between them. All tricks of the Fade, most likely. It was harder to control his dreams when he was tired.

The storm had been real, that much he knew. Solas could still acutely feel the bruising all along his left side, and he could still see the bright orange flames that had enveloped the tree as lightning struck it when he closed his eyes. In his frenzy to avoid being burned alive, he'd slipped on the muddy slope he'd been climbing. Solas had been sent tumbling down into a ravine. Somehow, he'd managed to drag himself back up again and continue onward.

Out of morbid curiosity, he glanced down into his robe. Solas immediately wished he hadn't once he saw the black and yellow bruising. That wasn't going away any time soon.

Using the headboard for support, Solas stood up. His feet wobbled precariously underneath him, but he managed not to fall on his face.

Even before the storm had hit, he'd been traveling for two weeks straight. He'd run out of food and water, and the few small villages he'd encountered had been reclusive and unwilling to offer him any shelter or supplies. Solas still couldn't decide if his newly discovered latent ability was a curse or a blessing. Without it, he probably wouldn't have survived his journey, but, then again, he probably wouldn't have had to make it in the first place either.

Solas had been wanting to leave home for some time, but this certainly wasn't the way he'd imagined doing so.

He couldn't remember any more than that, not now. If he wanted answers, Solas would have to look for them. He rigidly staggered his way over to the door.

Every inch of the hallway outside was bathed in color. The high ceilings were made of, instead of clear glass, windows inlaid with geometric designs. Among the rose, teal, yellow, and green patterns, he could see, also, the wings and tails of twisting dragons in flight.

Similarly shaped tiles covered the walls as well. He ran his fingers along them, marveling at how each one fit so precisely with the others beside it.

His revelry was broken by the echoes of quiet murmuring. They belonged to men, who were approaching swiftly. Solas' gut instinct, after having spent so long fleeing, was to duck back inside his room before he was seen. He coaxed himself into staying still, however. He hadn't woken chained in a dungeon or in a cage, so, for now anyway, Solas would assume they did not mean him harm.

Two men rounded the corner. They were dressed in robes of gold and green, and their heads shaved. Monks or priests, then. Good. They were less likely to pull a weapon on him than soldiers.

One, the taller of the two, raised his brows in pleased surprise when they made eye contact.

"Ah, we were just looking for you," he said. "We did not expect you to be awake yet. We had heard your injuries were severe, though our healers were able to mend the worst of them."

"Where are we?" Solas asked.

"Right to the point then?" the monk surmised. "In short, you are in a temple, and you are safe. If you would like to know more, as I'm certain you do, I would suggest you come with us. Though, I would suggest you change out of your night clothes first."

The tips of his ears heated a bit at that comment.

"Oh, right." he stuttered, turning around.

Back in the room, his own clothes were nowhere to be found. Perhaps this was for the best. He doubted they would be clean, or even in one piece, after last night.

He looked inside the large armoire in the corner, and raised his brow at what he saw. Like the ones he'd woken up in, the silken robes inside were made for a nobleman, obviously. Solas knew, for a fact, that he was anything but.

Solas slipped into one of them anyway, if only to make himself presentable. The slick, emerald fabric felt too thin, like he was still wearing something meant to be slept in. He'd have to find something else soon.

He joined the two monks again, and, apparently, Solas's appearance was acceptable this time. They lead him away down the winding passages, and he doubted he'd be able to ever find his way back after the first fifteen turns.

It didn't help, either, that he spent most of the walk just _staring_. The murals, in particular, drew his attention. The fine, straight angles, the intense colors, the overlapping patterns and designs- he could've taken in each massive fresco for hours. The monks smirked at the way he practically turned around backward to get a better look even as they walked away.

He smelled their destination long before they ever reached it. Solas's attention was immediately snatched from the artistry and his mind went blank. In that instant, he was more stomach than man.

It had a few days since he'd run out of actual food. He'd had to hunt as the wolf, and with the weather, he'd been unable to start a decent fire. After so long subsisting on cold, raw meat out in the middle of nowhere, he'd never felt a greater want in his entire life.

"Gods boy!" the shorter of the two monks gasped, recoiling in shock. "When was the last time you've eaten?"

Solas' chest tightened in horrified embarrassment. Even children knew how to control their second voices _._ In his desperation, he'd hoisted all of his dire hunger onto the two men.

The elvhen, due to their intimate connection to the Fade, were uniquely empathetic toward each other. Ambient sympathetic magic surrounded them at all times, and when they felt something strongly enough, that energy would reflect those emotions. It would wash over all those nearby. The monks had probably felt his gnawing pangs as sharply as Solas.

" _Ir abelas_ ," Solas muttered, looking away from the man's gaze. He, as all elves were taught from a young age, canceled out the energy with magic of his own. Save for close family and friends, letting your other voice loose on just anyone was horrendously impolite.

"There is no need _da'len_ ," he said, shaking his head softly. "Come, quickly."

As they drew closer, Solas could feel his muscles and bones shifting beneath his skin. Like his other voice, he just barely managed to keep it under control. Since his first transformation, it had been somewhat difficult to keep his other side in check. He'd grown a bit stronger these last few days, or at least he'd like to think so.

All of that supposed strength rushed away the moment his eyes fell upon that table. It was laden with treasures both familiar and strange, from the red-violet fruits that grew outside his own village to something like looked like a boar, a brightly plumed bird, golden apples, and then, oh blessed fate, he spied a stack of small, flaky cakes as well.

He'd have dived down on it all that instant if not for the soft laughter that drifted down to him from the other end of the table.

Solas met the woman's amber gaze, and in that instant his memory returned to him. It had not been a dream, and it was not his mother who had taken his hand last night.

"It is good to see you once more, my young friend." the woman at the other end of the long table said. She was wearing a white-gold gossamer gown that draped over her dark shoulders like a wispy veil, and her dark hair hung loose. She was not heavy with jewelry or fineries as he had seen in memories of nobility, but she had the same air about her as the ancient kings and queens. Her tone and body language exuded perfect calm, but there was something about her eyes that sent a twist inside of him. She seemed to know his every thought without a single word. "Do join me, please."

She motioned to the monks behind him, and they each departed with a deep bow.

Solas hesitantly moved to take the chair nearest to his end of the table, but the woman shook her head.

"No, over here please. I'd like to speak to you, not have a shouting match across the hall." she requested.

Somehow, to have this one person watch him as he approached was as petrifying as standing before a crowd of thousands. Solas managed to lower himself into the seat she gestured to. Now, she was close enough that, if he'd the gall, Solas could reach out and touch her.

He could see the golden stud in the side of her flat, rounded nose and the spots that dotted her cheekbones. For some reason, the freckles put him at ease a bit. They made her more real.

"I can hardly recognize you without all of that dirt on your face." she mused, resting her chin in her hand. "You are handsome young man. It's a wonder how you could've ended up in such a sorry state."

Solas couldn't comment. His mouth had gone dry.

She tilted her head to the side. "You are a quiet creature aren't you? I've hardly heard more than two words from you, boy. Would you tell me your name, at least?"

"Solas," he answered softly.

She hummed, and her eyes finally wandered away from him. Solas felt muscles he hadn't known were tense loosen. "An unusual name. It suits you, though."

She waved her hand toward the piles of food set before them. "Please, eat something. They always empty the stores whenever I visit. Such a waste. I could never finish even a portion of this."

He did not move until she herself took up her fork. Solas' gruesome emptiness had not faded at all, but, regardless, he started off small for the sake of being polite. At first, anyway. He emptied that plate in a blink of an eye, and, soon, with an assuring nod from his hostess, filled it again.

"Is it customary to starve children where you're from?" she asked with an amused quirk to her lips. He was well into his third serving by that point.

"No," he replied, averting his eyes.

When he did not explain further, she continued in her examination. "Do you know what you are, _da'len_ , perchance?"

"I do not understand what you mean, _hahren_." Solas answered in turn. Though what he said was true, Solas did have his suspicions. His anxiety twisted up and along his spine at what she would, inevitably have to say. How could one ignore his blatant blasphemy, after all?

"You are a mage that can change your form," she stated. "It is uncommon, but not unheard of. I assure you." Her eyes wrinkled in humor, but at what he could not be certain. She seemed to be amused by him in general. "You are _dun'himelan_. It is very fortunate that you came to me. You would have been punished severely by any other. "

"Because to morph one's shape is considered divine." Solas murmured. He could not help the bitterness in his tone.

"Indeed it is. Luckily enough for you, Solas, I know better." she said. Her eyes softened, and she rested her long fingers atop his hand. "Something has happened to you, that much is clear. Would it be too painful to speak of it now?"

Solas nodded numbly. The memories that were already flashing through his mind made his appetite evaporate in an instant, and he quietly set his fork down.

"I understand." she whispered, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "If you have nowhere else to turn, then you are welcome here. I promise you, if any choose to persecute you, they will face my judgement. As long as you remain in my care, no harm will come to you."

"Thank you," he said. Though the thought that, perhaps, she was tricking him did come to mind, Solas relished in the offer of comfort.

She retracted her hand again. "I will not ask you to make any decision at this moment. If you do decide to stay here, I will arrange for you to learn how to better control and master your abilities. It is my hope that, in the future, we could be steadfast allies. I will not force you into any commitment, however, and do not feel that you cannot choose your own path out of any sense of gratitude you may have."

"I will consider it," Solas agreed.

"For now," she said. "I've arranged for one of my servants to give you a tour, so to speak. I thought it best that I select someone closer to your own age. I imagine it can be grating to live amongst a crowd of old men day in and day out. Even I require some respite from them, now and again."

She stood from her seat. "If you are finished, I have business I must attend to."

"Yes, thank you again." Solas said.

"It was good to speak with you, _da'len_ , and I hope to do so again soon." she responded. "My friend should be waiting for you by the door you came in through. Farewell, for now."

Solas nodded. She left through another doorway and disappeared down the hall with her golden robes dragging like peacock feathers behind her.

As she'd told him, Solas left the dining hall as he'd come in. At first, he saw no one out in the bright hallway, that was until he looked down.

The tiny girl looked owlishly up at him with large, nervous green eyes. She was standing stock straight, and she was so still that he swore she was barely even breathing. She had medium brown hair, only slightly darker than her richly tanned skin. She had a pretty face, over all, but she reminded him a bit of a fawn shivering on thin legs.

"Greetings, _tarlin_ ," she said. She hastily dipped into a bow and, so quickly he'd have missed it if he'd blinked, stood board-straight again. "The lady has assigned me to assist you."

"Why are you acting like that?" Solas asked.

" _I-ir abelas_!" she stuttered. "I have offended you." She looked like she was waiting to be slapped.

"No," Solas said, holding up his hands. "I am not a noble."

Her brows furrowed. "But, you dined with Lady Mythal!"

Solas felt the blood drain from his face. "That was…"

"How could you not have-?." she blanched. "You are the luckiest fool in Elvhenan!"

She shook her head as the nervous tremors subsided. When she looked back at him again, there was less fear in her eyes, at least. "If you're not a noble, then why would she go through all this trouble then for just anybody?"

"I do not know." Solas answered, still in shock.

She looked at him inquisitively. "That is strange. It's only fitting, I suppose, considering the way you turned up here."

"Excuse me?" Solas stuttered.

"Do you not remember?" she squeaked. She had an odd look on her face then. He was reminded very sharply of the boy back home who'd lived in the house across from his. He'd always find rats and birds in the woods, which he'd keep as pets, and hide them nearby. When his parents would inevitably catch on, he'd wear that same guilty expression as he tried to deny it to them.

"No," Solas said, narrowing his eyes.

"I probably shouldn't say anything." She said, looking down to the floor. "If she didn't tell you, I mean. The lady may be displeased."

It seemed like more of an excuse than anything, but he let it slide. He wanted to see more of this place that could, potentially, become his new home. There was no reason to start an argument, not yet.

"Alright," he conceded.

Still watching him out of the corner of her eye, she turned away from him. She gestured with her hand for him to follow and called back over her shoulder. "Noble or not, I'm bound by my word to Lady Mythal. Come along now."

Despite her small size, she moved very quickly. He had to jump slightly to match her pace from standing still.

"What is your name?" he called a little breathlessly.

"Morinthe," she answered back over her shoulder. "And yours?"

"Solas." he replied.

She laughed. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed it if I'm to be honest. You did not seem particularly proud earlier."

Solas figured if she wouldn't tell him what that meant the first time, there was no point in asking now. The truth would come out eventually, either way.

"All this is mostly just for the gawkers," Morinthe explained, waving her arm at the entirety of the glittering passage. " _Worshippers_ , I mean. There's nothing really useful here, honestly, and we don't get many people. This part of the temple is usually empty."

She took a sharp turn, and Solas frantically rounded the corner after her. There were so many different branching exits he was certain that, if he didn't pay enough attention, he'd lose her in a heartbeat.

His guide took him down several more twists and turns before, finally, they were outside.

There were many smaller buildings outside of the main temple that he could see, and there were men darting about between all of them. They hastily washed away the mud, leaves, and tree branches that had been thrown all over the twisting, crystalline buildings.

Beyond the scurrying monks and the crystal, gold, and marble structures, there was nothing but wide open fields surrounding the temple grounds, which ended at a dense treeline. From there, he could see no signs of civilization, only a vast mountain range.

The girl weaved and ducked around the monks with ease. Solas, on the other hand, stumbled about and nearly fell at least three times.

They were all diligently sweeping up wet piles of leaves and debris off of the stone paths and the of the temple walls, wiping away the mud until their golden shine returned.

"It's always a pain to clean up after a storm hits. Can't have anyone see the temple in this state, after all." she explained. She shot him a quick grin over her shoulder. "Thank you, by the way. You've gotten me out of this, for now at least."

The anxiety hit him again as she lead him through the bustling crowds. After living his entire life in a village with only fifty people in it, to say this was a shock to his system would be a vast understatement. Morinthe seemed to sense this change in him in an instant, though he was certain he had the _tael'dirth_ under control now. "It's not usually like this, though. Most of these old coots are inside transcribing texts or practicing rituals this time of day. It's mostly pretty quiet here, not many visitors. There's not much to do, so it's kind of boring, though."

"That is alright." he assured her. "I am certain I will find something to do with myself. Thank you for your concern, though."

She smiled warmly. "Hey, if you're looking for anything a way to waste time, I've got plenty of work to do from dawn to dusk. You'll have to get up before noon, though."

He nodded. "Might as well make myself useful."

"You'll do well with us then." Morinthe said. "We're a small operation here. Everyone's got to do their part."

She gently lead him by the elbow through the bustling mob, slowing down somewhat for his sake, presumably.

They passed a glass building. Despite it's translucent walls, he could barely make out what was inside through the foggy, green windows. He could see the shadows of leaves pressed again the glass and a few foggy figures moving about.

"The greenhouse," Morinthe said, nodded her head toward it. "We grow most of our own produce. We don't get much in the way of donations out here."

She pointed next to another set of stairs that lead down what looked like a basement door. It was nearly completely obscured by the trailing ivy that grew over the walls above it.

"That's the archives down there. It's locked, so not just anybody can wander in there. You can ask to borrow a key if you ever need to."

"What sort of texts do they keep down there?" he asked.

"Mostly copies on rituals and doctrines. There are a few on sciences, literature, and the like as well, though." she responded. "It's nice down there, quiet. It can be a little dark and musty, though."

"Do you go there often?" Solas wondered, giving her a sidelong glance.

"At least once or twice a day, give or take." she replied with a shrug. "My tutors like to have me study down there. They don't like having to go and ask for the key every time they need another text. You can only take two out at once, you see."

She pulled at his arm again to keep them moving. "Meals are in the mess hall. Midday's in a short while, so I'll show you then. You'll have to get up earlier for the first, though. It ended about five hours ago."

Morinthe stopped mid-step, however, and hissed through her teeth. "Shit!"

"Problem?" he inferred.

"I forgot about something," Morinthe said, snapping her fingers. "We may have to take a detour. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." Solas replied, following closely behind as she turned and dashed off in the opposite direction.

Though he didn't catch all of them, Solas was rather surprised by the creative and foul words the tiny girl snapped under her breath as she weaved her way through the irritated monks and guards. Solas halted as they came suddenly to a dead end. They were standing by a stone partition overlooking a courtyard below.

Before he could even question her, Morinthe jumped over the edge and landed gracefully on the dirt below. She only barely noticed that he didn't follow.

"Come on now!" Morinthe shouted, rolling her bright green eyes. "If I leave you behind I won't hear the end of it!"

Solas leaned cautiously over the edge. His stomach dropped like a stone as he realized just how far the ground really was.

"Perhaps I should find another way." Solas suggested dubiously.

"No time!" Morinthe insisted. "It's not that far! We're wasting daylight, hurry up!"

Solas closed his eyes, gave silent thanks for what blessings he'd had in his short life, and, before he could convince himself otherwise, swung his legs over the edge.

Morinthe guffawed at him, nearly falling over herself. Scowling deeply, Solas staggered up off of his throbbing tailbone. To save face, he resisted the urge to rub it.

"Nicely done," Morinthe giggled, giving him a little clap.

Solas rolled his eyes, and, on impulse, gave a small bow. "I am honored that you enjoyed my performance." he snarked. "Although, I would hope that you do not desire an encour."

Morinthe snorted and gave him a light smack on the shoulder. "You're a funny one." She shook her head. "We've got to go."

After a few more near death experiences cutting through hedges, running across beams, and jumping over balconies, they reached their destination- a stable.

There were men attending to the halla and the harts through the open gates at the front, but Morinthe bypassed the main entrance and sidled along the back to a side door.

Morinthe fished a key out of the purse at her hip and fiddled with the lock on the door while Solas collapsed against the wall to catch his breath.

"Hush!" she snapped. "He can't know!"

"Who?" Solas asked.

She shushed him again and shot him a look fierce enough to strike a bear dead.

Morinthe silently slipped into the dark room, and Solas stalked behind. Though he could not see anything, his nose gave him a good idea of everything that was in that stable. Plenty of hay, wood shavings, sweat, rats, and, most potently, dung. Standard fare, or so he'd been told.

He saw light glint off of the metal Morinthe drew from her purse and gently laid it down on a table in the center of the room.

Just then, light poured in from a window on the other side of the room. A large man had opened the shutters and was now rolling his eyes at Solas' sheepish companion.

"Fancy finding you here," he grunted, crossing his arms across his barrel chest. "Forget something?"

"You're supposed to be helping them clean!" Morinthe sighed.

"They sent me away early to finish up with these before next week." he said, sweeping his hand across the tables in the center of the room. Solas noticed for the first time that they were all covered in small wooden figurines of various animals and idols, all beautifully precise. They obviously had a great deal of loving dedication put into their crafting.

"That was rather difficult," he continued, narrowing his already tiny eyes. "without my carving knife, of course."

"I'm sorry, alright?" Morinthe groaned, staring up at the ceiling in exasperation.

"You know what Ashani said about practicing on your own!" he snapped. "Here I've been all morning waiting for you to come marching in with two of your fingers cut off! You are not ready yet!"

"It's been threes years!" Morinthe insisted.

"Yes, just three years!" he repeated. "You've barely even started. Ashani has trained more men and women than you have years on you. She knows what's best for you."

They bickered on like that for a while, and Solas stepped further into the room. The boy hovered over one of the work tables and gently slipped one of the figures into his hand. He rolled a tiny halla around in his palm, wondering over the tight curls of its antlers.

"Wait, is that-?" the man stuttered, finally noticing the young man. He'd gone deathly pale, and, in reaction, Solas froze as well.

Morinthe nodded, grinning as she nodded toward him. "Solas. Lady Mythal asked me to help him get oriented." She seemed glad to have a distraction from her misdeed.

"My deepest apologies," he stammered, suddenly falling over himself. "If I'd known, I would never have-"

"What is everyone going on about?" Solas demanded. He'd had more than enough of this.

The man was obviously as confused as Solas was, so Morinthe mumbled. "He doesn't remember what happened."

"I see," he sighed, taking a rag out of his robe and dabbing at his sweaty forehead. "If we're going to talk about it, let's not in here. It is always so damn hot in this hole."

The older man took them back outside and sat down on a bench pushed against the wall. He had to spread his legs to give his belly room to settle as he leaned back with a deep sigh. Morinthe quickly perched herself beside him, her knobby little knees drawn up to her chest. Solas took a seat on an overturned bucket across from them.

"I am Pavel," the old man huffed, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "I do wood-working, and whatever else the high priests ask me to on the side. I also watch over this one, though I'll never be thanked for it."

Morinthe rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't remember your own name some days if it weren't for me!"

Pavel gave him a pointed look. "See what I mean?" He shook his head. "Do you really not know anything about what went on last night?"

"Only bits and pieces," Solas admitted. "I am not sure how I ended up here, to be honest."

"That goes for the both of us," Pavel agreed. "You literally turned up on our doorstep in the middle of the night. You didn't look like you do now, however."

"I was a wolf, wasn't I?" Solas inferred, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Yes, indeed you were." Pavel chuckled. "You gave us all quite a fright. _Da'ean_ dropped a water bucket on your head, if I'm not mistaken."

Morinthe looked as if she'd love nothing more than if the ground swallowed her up. "Sorry," she muttered.

"The temple guard had to corner, and we caught you in a static cage. You were terrified, we were terrified, and if Lady Mythal hadn't stepped in we'd probably all be a bit more mangled today." Pavel said with a shrug.

"I cannot believe that I would-" Solas blanched. "Did I hurt anyone?"

"No," Pavel assured him, raising his hands. "Everyone's alright. Don't fret child. It's behind us now."

" _Ir abelas_ ," Solas said. "It will not happen again."

"If our Lady trusts you," Pavel began. "then so do I, and all others in this temple as well."

"It's my fault, really." Morinthe blurted. "I was the one that sent them all after you. If I hadn't over reacted so much, then they wouldn't have done that in the first place."

"It is alright," Solas replied. It was good to have an answer at last, albeit still bewildering. Morinthe still looked horribly guilty, but the tightness of her shoulders had eased somewhat.

"To the Void with us all," Pavel laughed. "And I've still got to paint them too. I'll never get finished at this rate."

"What are those figurines for, anyway?" Solas asked, glad to change the subject.

"We sell them in a town nearby every few weeks or so. Helps keep the monks fed." Morinthe said.

"I find it hard to believe Mythal lacks for funds," Solas scoffed.

"No, but Mythal's money is not ours." Pavel sighed. "The high priests say it's dishonest to use the offerings for the goddess to provide for ourselves. Our temple is rather _unique_ in that respect. The blokes over in Arlathan live like the gods themselves, I swear."

"I've never carved before," Solas said. "But I know how to paint, at least. I could help you."

"I'd be glad to have an extra pair of hands." Pavel agreed. "These bastards expect me to do it all by myself, and to make enough to keep us all from starving. It's drudge work, really."

"We should go to eat first, if I've the time correct." Pavel grunted. Morinthe had to help him up to his feet.

Oh, yes, the man was right indeed. Solas could smell it from here. His appetite was back in full force again, and he knew that, until it could be satisfied, he'd not be able to think of anything else.

They stood together and, without having to climb any walls this time around, made their way back to the temple.

 **A/N: Releasing chapter 2 earlier than I thought I would, but this is a special for New Years I guess. Just got one more chapter to go before part one of this sucker is done, so expect consistent updates every week or so. See you all again soon!**

 **BTW: For reference, in our years, Solas is about 16 and Morinthe is 13/14 in our years at this time. Yeah, can't really explain in the story itself precisely how old they are, as it would make no sense for them to think of themselves in shemlen years just for our convenience.**


	3. Chapter 3

Pavel had known the high priest of Mythal's temple in Arlathan once, many years ago. As young men, they'd studied in the same monastery, both prospective servants of the goddess just entering into this world. He'd always been more popular than Pavel, being a generally more charismatic and attractive person. When he spoke, every person in the room turned their head and listened.

Pavel, on the other hand, had never been an enthusing man. Overweight, pig-eyed, and slow witted, he'd generally been ignored by most people. Thinking back on it now, they'd never been particularly good friends, not truly, but Pavel had merely been an accessory to bask in the glory of his presence and ego. Those kinds of people needed someone like Pavel around, someone to remind them of how glorious they truly are in comparison to the plebeian folk of the world. Although, his 'friend' hadn't been that cruel of a person either. To an extent, he'd probably felt sorry for his misfit peer as well.

More than once, he'd taken Pavel aside and had a word on how to help him assert himself more. "You have to look them in the eye and know what you're going to say," he'd chastise, or, "You mustn't stutter so much Pav."

Pavel never had been able to adapt to that 'greatness', and, eventually, that was what had lead them to part ways. Pavel was repositioned to a temple on the edge of the empire, where they didn't need politically savvy men who actually knew what they were doing, whilst his friend was sent to Arlathan where he would soon rise through the ranks.

It was on that day when he left for the city that he'd given Pavel his final assessment.

"You know what's wrong with you Pavel?" he'd asked.

He had answered in the negative.

"You don't want to play the game. You're not willing to live in our world."

Pavel had not known at the time how right the man was. He never had been smart enough, flexible enough, to lie and cheat as the politicians and high priests did. He hadn't chosen this job for the right reason- he actually believed in justice, in being principled, in helping others. The real point of priesthood was entirely political, and that was something his friend had figured out from the start.

Pavel understood the game, now, understood what world he truly lived in, unlike before. But one thing had not changed, and he doubted it never would. He would never be willing to play by their rules, because this game they played, using people like tools to further themselves, was a rotten one, and he wanted no part in it.

It was the main reason why Pavel had trouble relating to the adults in his life, his 'peers'. They were all cold realists, having accepted that principles were negligible and even disadvantageous to success. Pavel understood where they were coming from, to an extent. One did have to live, after all. Unlike him, many had families to feed and bills to pay.

Children were different, though. They could lie and cheat just as easily as anyone else, but there was one thing Pavel was certain of: intrinsically, they were good. They only turned bitter and cynical like everyone else when they were taught by these more experienced players of the game that, to get by, you have to be cruel.

Pavel smiled softly, shaking his head. He'd tried his best to pry the boy away from the tiny frog he'd been so diligently working on. By that point, Morinthe had already long retired, and thankfully so. He would probably just let her keep the figurines she'd painted. No one would want to actually purchase them.

Solas', on the other hand, were truly something to behold. Understandably so, considering the fact that he'd barely ever blinked, much less spoken or paused, while working on them. And, presumably, he'd continued doing so until eventually passing out at the workbench, where he remained now.

Thankfully, he had not smeared the paint on the tiny figure when Solas had finally drifted off, a paintbrush dipped in green still in his limp hand. Pavel marveled at the careful detail Solas had put into the patterns that lined the frog's tiny form. Normally, Pavel chose to realistically color his figures, but Solas' work was lovingly stylized.

There were streaks of color all over the sleeves and front of the over-sized linen shirt Pavel had loaned the boy, as well as Solas' face. The child looked so tremendously at peace that Pavel felt a pang of guilt at having to wake him, but he nudged his shoulder none the less.

He grumbled something incoherent, and he shifted away from Pavel and buried his face in the crook of his elbow.

" _Da'len_ ," Pavel urged again. "It's time to rise, and that can't be good for your back."

He mumbled something again, even more muffled by his sleeve.

Pavel shook his head and decided it was time to take more extreme measures. He quickly dove for the child's sides and pinched them.

Solas bolted upright with a yelp and glanced around wildly.

"And so he rejoins the living!" Pavel grunted.

Solas rolled his eyes, still looking frazzled. The various cracks and pops that came from his joints as he moved reminded Pavel of the tiny firecrackers young children played with on holidays.

"Did I…?" he drawled, lazily taking in his surroundings.

"Pass out?" Pavel finished for him. "I would assume so, yes. You probably wouldn't be so stiff if you'd slept in a bed last night. Although, if you want to sleep in the stables I won't stop you."

"It would be preferable to that room." he admitted. "I am not worth so much trouble, truly."

"I will ask that they find another bed for you then," Pavel offered. "It is of no trouble to us to house you in one of our guest rooms, however, as they are empty except for perhaps once or twice a century. That our lady would show you such favor is no small trifle, either."

Solas shook his head, but didn't comment.

"Come along now," Pavel said. "Morinthe's waiting for us, and if we don't hurry, all the rolls will be gone."

At the mention of food, Solas quickly followed him out. In the sunlight, Pavel was able to see just how much of a mess the child had made of himself, but there wasn't time for him to go bathe before they ate. He'd have to wait until later.

The dining hall for the staff was far more low-key than the one in which Mythal would take her meals. There were six simple, long tables pushed against each other with benches on either side of them, which were by now almost entirely filled. Pavel had always despised those tiny benches; they were far too small to carry his rather abundant backside and wobbled horrendously whenever any of the five or six who could fit on one would move in the slightest.

Morinthe was alone in the farthest corner of the long hall conscientiously nibbling away at the edges of a piece of bacon. Her forehead was shiny with sweat, and her shoulders were hunched forward. This was rather typical- Ashani always pushed harder in the mornings. Although, Morinthe did have a tendency to multiply any amount of harshness Ashani displayed tenfold upon herself.

He and Solas each took their portions and joined her where she'd sequestered herself. Being the only child in the temple, until recently, she did tend to isolate herself from most of the other monks. To be fair, he couldn't blame her. Pavel was more than content to only converse with his fellow servants of Mythal when absolutely necessary.

The white of her smile was stark against her dark skin, and he could see the strain in it despite her best efforts to appear otherwise.

"Oh, looks like you've almost gotten up at a decent time today." Morinthe commented, throwing a small smirk the boy's direction. "Do you do anything but sleep and paint?"

"I read a great deal as well." Solas offered, sitting down across from her. Pavel joined him on the same bench.

"Really?" Morinthe laughed. "I do envy you, _fen_. If I even dared to sleep in, Ashani would have me run until I passed out."

"Hm?" Solas responded, furrowing his dark brows, but realization hit him in the same instant. "Oh, you meant… Nevermind. Who is this Ashani? You mentioned her before as well."

"One of my instructors," Morinthe explained. She looked confused, but didn't comment on his reaction to whatever she had said. "She's guard captain around here, and she trains me in all of the physical things."

"Are you training to be a temple guardian?" Solas inferred.

"No," Morinthe answered, looking to Pavel with wide, pleading eyes.

Pavel quickly chimed in. "She is being primed to serve Mythal, yes, but not in the temple. For now, we cannot specify any further."

This, of course, would probably only serve to heighten the boy's curiosity, but he nodded and didn't pry further. Good. Pavel couldn't lie worth a damn.

"You said one of your instructors," Solas continued. "What else are you studying, if I may ask?"

"History, languages, and magic, of course." Morinthe replied, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "A few other things on the side, too. No time for napping, I'm afraid."

"What schools of magic?" Solas pressed with a small, eager smile.

And once he started going on about that subject, Pavel wondered if he'd ever stop. The kid knew more than Morinthe did, by far, though she'd never been particularly apt for magic. He couldn't follow a damn thing Solas said, having only barely been able to summon a spark for as long as he remembered.

Morinthe was the one that ended up peppering him with questions now. Despite her personal frustrations with the subject, Morinthe had always been a curious child, and magic, as seemingly endless in possibilities as it was, held an undeniable allure.

Pavel had long given up trying to understand the workings of magic, so he decided to tune the two of them out and focus on his meal.

All too soon, however, the other monks began to rise from their seats and empty out of the hall. Pavel sighed, and he shoveled a few more mouthfuls of eggs into his maw before moving to join them. The morning ritual, as always, had arrived far too soon. This was the second most despised part of Pavel's job, the seemingly endless task of maintaining the accursed spell. It was also the most important duty this temple had, for if they were to neglect it, the balance of the entire empire could be put into jeopardy.

"I'm afraid I have to leave you two," Pavel interrupted. "Though I doubt my presence will be terribly missed."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Morinthe quickly assured him. "We forgot about you a little there, didn't we? You don't have to leave." Pavel shook his head in exasperation. Too kind, always too kind. Refreshing, but dangerous as well.

"I'm afraid I must. Duty calls." he explained, nodding toward the procession.

"I see," Morinthe said. "Um, Pavel?"

"Hmm?" Pavel queeried. She had that nervous, dodgy- eyed look he'd learned so well. She was going to ask him a question, and she was expecting a firm no.

"Would it be alright if, if Solas came with me to my next class?" Morinthe stuttered. "It's magic theory, and he doesn't really have anything else to do."

"I would ask Yeven," Pavel suggested. "Though I can't see any harm in it myself."

"Alright, I will then." Morinthe agreed, turning to Solas. "That sound good to you?"

"Certainly," Solas answered eagerly. "I've never actually had any real instruction on the subject before."

"What?" Morinthe gawked. "Then how could you possibly know all of that?"

"Trial and error, mostly," Solas admitted sheepishly. "I've also had many friends to assist me as well."

Pavel raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. That couldn't possibly be the entire story. The kid was a stranger to the both of them, though, and Pavel did not feel he had any right to pry.

"I suppose we'll see you again this afternoon," Morinthe said. "Try not to die of boredom without me."

"I'll do my best," Pavel huffed. "Though it is a never ending struggle, I'm afraid."

"And I wish you well," Morinthe laughed.

Pavel nodded to them both before turning and walking away. They seemed to be getting along rather well, though it did make him a little nervous. Boys his age could be rather insensitive at times, and impulsive as well. Solas seemed a decent enough sort, but first impressions could always be deceiving.

One thing was certain, however. If Solas did try anything distasteful, he'd wish he had been struck by lightning that night before ever meeting Pavel.

* * *

To say that she was enthralled was a bit of an understatement.

If someone had told her that the boy who stood before her today was a different person than the one she'd seen two nights prior, Morinthe wouldn't have been too hard to convince. Without an inch of mud caked on, his hair clean and tied back from his face, and no heavy bags under his eyes, Solas was… rather appealing.

Morinthe did her best to tamper that feeling down. She'd always prided herself on being intellectually driven, not some girl subject to the whims of adolescent hormones. He was a complete stranger, and, so far as she could tell, the attraction was not mutual. Solas was the only person her own age she'd been in extended contact with in the three years she'd been here. Pavel, being the man child he was, had been the closest thing to a friend she'd been able to get since being rescued from her slavery. She didn't want to screw this up by making him uncomfortable.

They finished eating, and Morinthe lead the way out of the hall to her next class. Her eyes noticed traitorously the way that, whenever they passed a window, his seemingly deep brown hair would light up a brilliant red.

Focus, she internally scolded.

"Yeven, my teacher, usually has me meet him down in the archives." Morinthe said, glancing around at anything except for her companion. "It's a bit stuffy down there, I'll warn you. They don't dust down there nearly enough, lazy coots that they are."

They both emerged into the chilled air outside. The dew laden grass sank in between her toes as she broke out into a run for the mossy steps that lead down into the basement.

"Must you run everywhere?" Solas breathlessly shouted behind her as he stumbled to keep up.

"You seem to need a bit of exercise with all the sleeping you do!" Morinthe called back with a devious grin.

The door to the archives was unlocked, so she knew that Yeven was already waiting inside. Morinthe pushed on the weathered wood and entered the darkness on the other side.

Though she could see somewhat in the pitch black of the basement, without any moonlight it was more difficult for her eyes to reflect any light. Luckily enough, however, she'd been down her enough times to know her way. Solas, however, didn't share that distinction.

He hadn't even been in the room for a minute before walking straight into a bookshelf and knocking a few onto his head. Morinthe did her best to stifle a laugh as she gently tugged him along by the sleeve in the right direction.

They got through the maze of shelves into the room's center, where there were a few tables and a lamp lit by veilfire. Yeven was hunched over a piece of parchment, scribbling notes out of the tome beside him furiously, his round spectacles gently further and further down his hooked nose.

Morinthe looked to Solas and pressed a finger to her lips. He gave her a perplexed look, but he slowly nodded. She silently stalked her way around and behind Yeven. Even though he'd been facing him, the mage still didn't notice her coming.

Morinthe jabbed the man in the ribs on each side, inciting a loud squawk. Yeven's glass dropped to the floor as he nearly fell out of his chair.

" _Fenedhis!_ " Yeven hissed, groping blindly on the floor for his missing glasses. "You know, I really do hate children."

She raised her brow at the man, though he surely could not see it. "Come on now, you know that your life would be dreadfully dull without me."

"It was for quite a time," Yeven snarled. "Dull and _peaceful_."

"Was it indeed?" Morinthe chirped. "You're welcome, then."

Yeven grumbled a few more curses under his breath before Morinthe crouched down and fetched his glasses from where they'd fallen. Thankfully, they weren't cracked. She handed them to him with an apologetic smile.

Out of all of her various instructors, Yeven was, by far, the most unusual. In his relatively short lifetime,by comparison to his peers anyway, he'd made amazing achievements in magic and engineering. Everyone knew that he'd once been a favorite of June, one of his most influential members of his inner circle, in fact. They were a like minded pair, or they had been. For reasons that were much talked of but never confirmed definitively, Yeven had fallen out of favor with June and, had it not been for Mythal's intervention, would have either been exiled or executed long ago.

While he had been stripped of his estate, belongings, riches, and, most unfortunately, his research, Yeven had managed to smuggle away one artifact from his glory years, his prized 'spectacles', as he called them. They were more like goggles with several several sets of lenses that could be rotated in and out for different distinct purposes, ones he would never reveal to her, of course. On the multiple occasions she'd stolen them to try to piece together their many mysteries, she'd found that some of the lenses had, seemingly, no effect (aside from giving her a headache), while others were bizarre and gave frightening implications. The one that stood out most in her mind was the pair that had allowed her to see through the skin and flesh of a cat to its bones as it stalked after a mouse. The thought had always made her skin crawl around Yeven, not able to help but wonder just how much he really was seeing behind those things.

He brushed some of his mouse brown hair from where it had fallen over his eyes and straightened the front of his gray robe. It was always a wonder to Morinthe just how much a man who seldom ever sought out the company of others could take pride in his appearance.

"If you are done with games," he continued. "We shall begin."

He haughtily turned on his heel, only to flinch again as he finally noticed Solas.

"A-and, who do we have here?" He stuttered. "It was my understanding that our studies were to be private."

"This is Solas." Morinthe said. "Mythal's new guest."

Yeven smiled widely, though it did not seem kind. There was a hunger in it that made Morinthe instantly uncomfortable, and Solas as well, if his face was anything to go by.

"You are the shifter, then." Yeven murmured with quiet awe. "I've never had the pleasure of knowing one of your kind personally. You are such a rare sort."

"You are an agent of the goddess, aren't you?" Solas asked. "Do you not consider it blasphemy?"

Yeven snickered. "To be holy is to be rooted in the past. Innovation is made by those who can challenge what our society has come to accept as right and wrong."

"I suppose so." Solas agreed reluctantly.

"You'd best not let the monks hear you say that," Morinthe commented in a sing-song voice. "They nearly threw you out last time."

"Your concern is noted, though you need not remind me." Yeven replied stiffly. "The stars are in your favor, by the way, boy. Had Mythal not stepped in on your behalf, you may not still draw breath, or perhaps worse."

"What do you mean?" Solas asked. Morinthe had never seen someone look so stiff. She was reminded, again, of that night two days before, when she'd wondered if he would bolt away in an instant.

"It is traditional that one who would blaspheme so would be taken before the Enavuris to be judged accordingly." Yeven explained. "Execution is the usual route, yes, but sometimes they're more creative."

"And can Mythal truly protect me?" Solas wondered apprehensively.

"Hopefully." Yeven replied flatly, shaking his head. "So then, what has brought you here? I have been wanting very much to meet you, but I doubt that you sought to see me."

"I told him we were to have class, and he wanted to sit in." Morinthe cut in, circling around to where she was facing her gangly teacher once again. Yeven always reminded her a bit of a crooked lamp post -tall, thin, and with that one distinct curl in his spine that gave his torso a consistent lean to the left. "Would that be alright?"

"I'm not certain," Yeven said, glancing down at the ring on his thumb appreciatively. "The high priests would probably lose their tiny minds with anger if they were to find out I'd done so without asking first."

The mage smirked wickedly, curling his spindly hand into a tight fist. The expression looked all the more sinister with the way the green-blue light accentuated his sallow, pale face. "In other words, I'd be happy to."

Though it was somewhat awkward at first, the tutoring session did eventually ease itself into a normal rhythm as Yeven found ways to work their new variable into his lesson plan. It wasn't that difficult, really. Solas mostly listened quietly, only asking a question every now and then, as Yeven recited his lecture on ways to manipulate basic fire magic for application to various other situations. While it wasn't Morinthe's focus of study, Yeven thought it essential that she know at least the bare bones of all the major schools of magic.

Yeven showed them a technique, which could be used to keep the caster warm in extreme temperatures for an extended period without burning too much energy. Morinthe and Solas each began to cast the spell, but, while Solas was able to get the hang of it with relative ease, Morinthe found herself repeatedly distracted in her fumbling attempts. She couldn't help but notice the way that, out of the corner of her eye, she could see Yeven staring at Solas and flipping through his lenses with that same strange look on his face.

Morinthe knew it was a bit bizarre, and perhaps overbearing, to feel protective over someone she barely knew, but she could not help the way her gut twisted. She didn't want to say anything, lest she get on Solas' nerves, but Morinthe secretly hoped that her new friend wouldn't want to attend another lesson with Yeven.

Eventually, the time came for them to both emerge from the basement archives and out into the now bright sun light. Yeven remained behind, for what purpose Morinthe did not know or care. She was just grateful to be free of the awkward tension that his presence had created.

"So," Morinthe mused, her tiny hands folding together behind her back. "How was it?"

"Interesting," Solas replied, idly scratching the side of his head.

"In-ter-e-sting," Morinthe parroted, emphasizing each syllable. "And what does that mean?"

"I am not entirely certain, to be honest." Solas huffed in amusement. "That word truly is meaningless without context, isn't it?"

"I'd say so, yes." she agreed. "Well then, _fen_ , was it interesting enough that you'd like to tag along for a while more?"

"Perhaps…" Solas replied with a small, devious smile.

"You're going to have to be able to keep up then!" Morinthe laughed and playfully shoved him before dashing off down the cobblestone path.

Solas scoffed indignantly and rushed after her.

* * *

 **This chapter is less on the eventful side, so I'm posting the next one today as well. Also, I don't want it to take two months for the main story to get going, since we have a good six more chapters left until this part wraps up, so I may be posting twice a week for now. Or maybe not... who knows...**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading, and, please, tell me what you thought.**


	4. Chapter 4

Thus far, Solas was not sure of his feelings on the dreams this temple had for him. On one hand, he'd finally gotten what he'd wanted, new areas of the Fade to explore and journey deeper into. Given the rather abrupt way he'd been sent out of his old environment, however, Solas found that missed the familiarity of the place he'd been before.

Currently, he was drifting through memories of what had been before the temple, an endless, sprawling forest untouched by civilization. It was not his first pick of times to visit, being naturally more drawn to ancient cities and civilizations, but it had its merits. The spirits here were archaic and strange, older than any elf he'd ever known by thousands of years. They were the steady pulse of life that beat beneath the bark of the thick, twisting oaks around him, as primal as the need to breathe and yet wise and worldly. He had always wondered if animals or plants had the capacity to dream, and, by his experiences with the relatively young growths around his village, he'd decided that most couldn't. But, it was clear to him now that there were some that could accomplish this.

Solas couldn't understand the words they whispered all around him, their secret language lost to time, but he hoped that one day he would. Despite not knowing the words, the emotion behind them was clear; they were in mourning for brethrine thousands of years gone, cut down to clear a space for Mythal's temple. He was glad for the temple's existence, for, after all, had it not been there he may've been wandering in the woods, perhaps, until he forgot that he was anything but a wolf. Still, he gave what condolences he could in his wordless voice, the one he knew these elders would understand.

Though he could not ever hope to know their pain, as beyond his ken as they were, they accepted his offering. They were impressed by the respect such a young child would show them. They let him pass through their domain in peace, so Solas thanked them graciously and continued on his way.

As fascinating as these old souls were, they were not Solas' purpose in dreaming tonight. He knew that it wasn't likely that any of his friends would be this far away from home, but he had to, at least, try to seek them out. They'd been one of the only reasons he'd remained in that village so long, his only true companions. Though the temple inhabitants had been, for the most part, good to him, Solas longed for some piece of what he'd been forced to leave behind.

He called out for Purpose, who had driven him forward when he'd struggled to control his visions and to playful Curiosity, who had gotten him into as much trouble as it had helped him in his explorations, but both were silent, too far to hear his pleas. Solas' chest grew tight with longing, though he managed to stay in control of himself. The Fade was a treacherous place for a man, let alone a budding child who could not manage his emotions.

Then, out of the blue mist, he saw his friend emerge, a smile on its serene face. Joy sputtered through his dry lungs, and he lunged to meet it.

"Wisdom," he reverently called. "You followed me?"

"It pained me to think that you would be left to wander all alone," It said. "I watched over you on your journey, my child, and I lead you to where I knew you would be safe."

Though it had not occurred to Solas before, its words made sense to him. Of course it could be no coincidence that, in all of the endless expanses of this forest, he would arrive at the one beacon of civilization within it. And he had felt it, the pull of something driving him onward despite his desire to quit his insular exodus.

"Thank you, _hren_." Solas responded. "I cannot bare to think what would have become of me if not for you."

"Indeed," Wisdom agreed, its voice alight. "I would never abandon you, Solas. As long as I live, you can be certain of that, at least."

They walked together in companionable silence for a time, interrupted only occasionally when Wisdom would share with him the thoughts of the Elder Ones, as he came to call them. It too had some difficulty fully comprehending their speech, but it translated what it could.

"Do you know who I have met, and what she has asked of me?" Solas wondered.

"You speak of the one who is dragon and woman made one in flesh?" Wisdom inferred. "Yes, I have seen her. I knew that she would guide you where I could not, and so I lead you to her."

"Have you considered her offer?" Wisdom continued.

Solas frowned, his brows knitting together. He looked down at imprecise imagining that was his toes, unsure how to respond. "I do not know yet. I wish to learn more, but can I accept the weight of responsibilities she seems to intend for me?"

"She has already said that you need not remain any longer than you would wish to." Wisdom reminded him.

"That is what she says," Solas repeated. "But what fool would take such a thing at face value?"

Wisdom shook its head, its expression remaining uncannily still. It took the form of a person, or at least something like one, for his benefit probably, but, not being one, it sometimes forgot to include all of the minute mannerisms and movements a true fleshling would have.

"You may trust Mythal, that much I know." Wisdom assured him. "And you can trust her people as well, most of them anyway."

"But you told me the truth about the Enavuris," Solas protested. "Why would I serve a false god?"

"Sometimes," Wisdom began. "One must work within the system to change it."

Solas relented, looking away from it to the distant horizon. The Golden City was there, nearly close enough to touch. He never would, of course, as all knew not to dare, but, in his imaginings, he could nearly see himself breaching its gates.

"Remember _da'len_ ," Wisdom said. "Curiosity is not inherently dangerous,"

"But can be deadly without caution." Solas finished reflexively, as he had since he was small. "I have not forgotten."

They stopped before a tree, the largest and tallest of all, with branches that spiralled upward into the sky like twisting serpents. Solas sat beside Wisdom on one of its many curling, exposed roots, letting his feet dangle in the air.

"I wonder if this tree exists in the physical world as well." Solas murmured, running his fingers across the rugged bark.

"Possibly, though it could be a form a spirit has taken rather than a true reflection." Wisdom said. "Tell me, child, what you think of this new friend of yours. I will admit, I was surprised to see you taking to another of flesh."

Yes, it was rather odd for him, now that Solas thought on it. Morinthe was unique as far as his friends were concerned, though he was not certain he could call her that just yet, having known her only a week's time. In the village, he'd never joined the other children running about, daring one another to eat insects and dirt and all manner of foul things, or hiding behind trees and rocks with bated breath as their friends would slowly, but surely, draw them out. When he was very small, he'd been quiet, shy, and, admittedly, a bit more attached to his mother's hip than most, so they'd never had much interest in the reclusive Solas.

He'd always been most at peace in the quiet, anyway. His fondest moments were all spent in his dreams with spirits, who did not mock him for his bookish nature, clefted chin, or his somewhat tubby belly and shared in his love of exploration rather than deplored it.

With time, he'd eventually grown into his features, lost his infantile excess of fat, and gained a bit more confidence, but, even as they grew more willing to invite him into their circles, Solas had still chosen to keep his distance from others his age, and people in general. Given that he'd become more outspoken, he was also more read to inform them of exactly what he thought about them. They soon gave up, needless to say. Maybe he was clinging to old wounds, but he also had found that, having spent so long in the company of spirits, it was difficult to relate to those who were, supposedly, his kin.

"She seems kind enough," Solas replied. It was true. Morinthe had been, thus far, more accepting of him than he was used to. In comparison to the other villagers, she'd taken his shapeshifting better than he could've dreamed, especially so, considering what he'd heard of their initial encounter.

"That child will surely help you grow." Wisdom affirmed. "Try as you might, one cannot spend his entire life dreaming. You must learn to exist within your own world as you have within the Fade."

"I suppose so," Solas consented, idly wringing his fingers together.

"'You suppose?'" It echoed. "You seem more enthusiastic than that when you're chasing that girl all over the temple grounds."

"She is very swift for such tiny legs. Reminds me of a mouse." Solas commented. He was more than a little sore after the acute increase in physical activity he'd experienced in the last week or so, not to mention how long he'd been trekking through the wilderness prior to that. Between sessions of dashing across the temple grounds, he'd also started regularly attending most of Morinthe's classes with her, for a lack of anything else to do. He enjoyed it, aside from being teased by Ashani for how out of shape he was and being behind Morinthe in her studies.

He still wasn't privy to exactly _what_ Morinthe was being so rigorously trained for, though he had a few guesses from what he did know.

"I am glad that you are not alone, at any rate." Wisdom said. "You are still thinking of running, however."

There was no use trying to hide his thoughts from Wisdom, as it was the embodiment of knowledge and knew intimately the workings of the mind.

"They know what I am, and, even if I can trust Mythal's word, I know there are those in the temple who are considering turning me in to face judgement from the other gods." Solas murmured.

"They fear and love her too much to betray her." Wisdom assured him. "But I will watch their thoughts, and I shall warn you if danger arises."

"Thank you," Solas replied, his eyes wandering off into the endless distance. He could see shadows drifting amongst the trees, so faint that it would be hard to tell if his eyes were fooling him. All things in the Fade were a part of his own imagination, however, so he could, arguably, say that it was all in his head.

The image started to shifted and turn, flickering like a windswept candle just barely holding on to life. Solas scowled at the obvious signs of waking.

"Do not wear such a face, _falon_." Wisdom chided. "We will meet again soon enough."

Solas slowly nodded as its face began to blur and melt away, the scene soon returning to the blank darkness from which it had emerged.

* * *

Solas was brought back to awareness by a sharp rapping on the door to his room. He scowled as he stiffly brought himself upright, and he squinted through the darkness. Sleeping underground had been quite the adjustment. He was never really sure of the time, though the others were somehow able to rise on schedule. If not for Morinthe, he would probably just sleep through the entire day without ever realizing the sun had arisen.

"Come on!" her tiny, muffled voice pleaded through the wooden barrier. "They'll leave us behind!"

Leave them? Who were 'they', and where were they going? His hazy mind, for a few moments at least, could offer no answers. Then, it finally clicked in his brain- they were going into town today.

Solas tumbled out of bed. Judging by the urgency in her voice, he didn't have time to go through his usual, meditative ritual of stretching before he dressed, so quickly shrugged into a shirt and pants and frantically wrapped his feet. He'd finally been able to procure clothing that wasn't five sizes too large or made to suit the so-called gods themselves only a few days ago.

As per the usual, Solas didn't bother actually brushing out his hair despite having been given a comb by a none too subtle Pavel. He honestly wasn't certain why he even bothered with the stuff, considering he always just let the waves go wild in his sleep and tied them back in the morning. He'd often spoken of cutting it all off, but his mother had always vehemently refused to allow him.

"Solas!" Morinthe groaned in annoyance.

"Just a moment!" Solas grunted, rolling his eyes. "Life is not a race."

Morinthe did not comment, although, he felt her prolonged irritation permeating through the door. Solas snorted in amusement. Morinthe was, usually, very mature despite being younger than he, but at times he was reminded strongly of that age difference.

The instant he was out of the door Morinthe was dragging him away down the hall and out of the subterranean area. At the usual break-neck pace, they managed to arrive at the plaza where the small caravan of monks and guardians was preparing to move through the Eluvian. Aside from the smacks of their frantic footfalls against the gilded stones, the temple grounds were silent.

The temple guardians raised alarms in the depths of his mind. Perhaps it was leftover from his still hazy experience with them those many nights ago, but there were other aspects of their demeanor that naturally set him on edge. They wore high-heeled boots, meant for riding, which also served to make them seem impossibly tall and intimidating. He also found the ink imbedded in their skin to be rather distasteful as well; he'd witnessed the memories of many who had been snatched from their homes and driven through the forests near his village by slavers. There were so many who'd give anything for the chance to live with their faces clean of that evil, and yes these men and women had chosen to be branded.

Pavel stood at the front of the covered cart, laden with their wares for trade and prepared to bring back whatever supplies they purchased. There were five guardians, six monks, and one high priest in total hovering around the cart, making certain they'd prepared everything properly.

The cart, pulled by a red hart, was too wide to fit through the Eluvian, he noticed in passing. He figured that they would have to use some sort of spell to accomplish this task and waited eagerly to see it accomplished.

Pavel turned to him with an unamused look that did not reach his eyes. "So you are coming then?"

"Apparently," Solas grunted, blinking tightly as his eyes still adjusted to the light of the outside. Morinthe scampered up onto the front of the cart and pulled Solas up with her. She was surprisingly strong for such a waifish girl.

The stone-faced temple guardian at the front of the vehicle drove the hart forward, causing the entire cart to lurch. As they moved through the mirror, Solas felt an invisible force pushing and shifting his body as everything blurred, and when the scenery grew clear again they were already on the other side, in the strange, dim haze of the Cross Roads.

In his village, they had never been able to afford to purchase an Eluvian of their own, having instead to travel some way to reach a nearby town, somewhat larger, by dirt path. Only a few of men ever went down that way to barter and sell goods or, occasionally, when they had to discuss a dispute with the local lord who owned the land they lived on, and Solas had never been given the chance to join them before his departure.

What started as excitement quickly gave way to dread, however, as reality trampled him.

The roads were brightly lit by a source he could not place and swarming with patrons, all zipping to and fro between the constantly shimmering mirrors. He'd always understood on some level that the world was large, but it was a map's understanding, not an actual one. A city on a map was only a mark of paint with a label beside it. This was something entirely new, and ever so much more intense. How was it possible that so many people could all be alive and breathing simultaneously? How could there be space for so many lives and stories, all intertwining, fighting, struggling together and against each other?

He felt that all too familiar panic setting in, one which had gotten him into more than a little trouble as of late. It happened whenever he was in a crowded setting like this: it started as an acute tightening in his chest, then the prickling along his skin of the magic waiting to be summoned at his call, and finally the shifting and bending of his bones as they anticipated the change. Flight or fight, as Wisdom called it.

He hated it, feeling like some sort of wild animal incapable of controlling itself. Solas had always prided himself as being an intellectual, relying on reason rather than the blind thrashing of basic instinct. But what had that been worth back then? The moment he'd need that sound mind most, he'd devolved into nothing more than a beast. It made his stomach twist in disgust.

A tiny hand rested on his, giving it a small squeeze. Solas jumped as if struck from a trance, and his eyes shot wildly to his side. Morinthe's brows knitted together, and she asked. "What was that? You're nervous, I understand, but there was something else."

Heat flooded to Solas' ears. He'd thought that he'd been keeping the _tael'dirth_ relatively under control, but, apparently, he hadn't hidden it from her, sitting as close as she was.

"Was it the wolf?" Morinthe whispered, nervously glancing toward the guardian nearest to them.

Ah, so she'd felt that too. Perhaps she had been able to understand it to some extent.

"It is no matter," Solas muttered. "I have it under control."

She didn't believe him; that much was obvious. Morinthe did not, however, say anything more.

Unlike some of the more in-demand mirrors, their destination was relatively clear of traffic, so they weren't stranded for hours waiting. Solas forgot to leave his seat to watch the spell, but he only noticed this after they were transitioned through the mirror and placed back into the proper plane of existence once again.

They were on a narrow dirt path beneath a thick canopy of leaves. The cart bumped and rattled along the uneven path, causing Pavel to glance nervously back at their covered goods every now and then. The forest wasn't as thick here as the woods which surrounded the temple, the trees far younger and more sparse. Like the ones he'd walked beneath in his dreams the night before, however, he could still feel a similar pulse of life connecting them through the Fade.

Solas grunted as Morinthe tugged sharply at his ear. "Enough with the grouching!" she urged. She had a strange accent that still, after a week of spending almost all of his time in her presence, he couldn't place, and it was particularly strong when she said this. "You haven't even smiled once today."

" _Ir abelas,_ " Solas consented. "I am just a little overwhelmed, is all."

"More people than you're used to, hmm?" Morinthe inferred. The cart hit something large in the path and lurched ferociously, and Morinthe's tiny form would've been tossed out had she not caught herself first.

"That's enough of that," she grumbled, hopping down to the ground. Solas, feeling a tad nauseous himself at that point, quickly joined her.

"You still haven't told me where you're from," Morinthe tutted, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Why do you want to know?" Solas countered. "You have not told me your origins either."

Though he had said so defensively, Solas was genuinely curious as well. Still being an outsider, Solas wasn't privy to any information involving her past or the reason she was in Mythal's custody to begin with. Unless he pledged himself to Mythal's side as well, he probably never would be.

" _Origins_ …" she echoed reverently. "You don't talk like a real person, you know that?"

"Excuse me?" Solas balked.

"I didn't mean it that way," Morinthe chirped, tottering on the tips of her toes as they continued alongside the hart. "You speak like a book. All long sentences and big words. You've probably spent more time reading than with people, haven't you?"

"Somewhat true, yes." Solas affirmed. His friends had also influenced him, in all likelihood. Spirits, obviously, wouldn't speak like most his age either. "You've a strange way of saying things as well. I have not heard your accent before."

"I doubt you've heard many at all." Morinthe retorted. "If you've never been to the Cross Roads before, I mean."

"I've encountered a few here and there." Solas defended.

Morinthe frowned as she always would when she didn't know whether or not she was allowed to answer him. She eventually settled on this: "West of here. Far West, and a bit South too. I'm not from the homeland, but one of the territories. An island, a chain, actually."

There were about a hundred islands of varying sizes in the territories to the West. She'd given him some information, but not anything definitive. It did explain why he'd never heard anyone who sounded like she did before, and her deep tan.

"I'm obviously not familiar with the area," Solas said. "What was it like there?"

"Hot," Morinthe answered. "Humid too. Miserable during the Summer. There are snakes everywhere, and we all had to learn little rhymes to remember which ones were harmless and which would make you drop on the spot. Have you ever seen a jungle? No, of course not."

She sighed, staring up at what peeks of sky could be seen through the trees. "I wouldn't go back, but I miss the sea, and the colors. Everything here looks so brown. I've always figured the nobles stole all the color in the homeland for their robes."

Solas snorted. "Perhaps." His lip quirked as he glanced back toward her. "Is that why you always wear that cloak?"

It was a deep brown, cured hide, lined with white fur. She wore it if the temperature dropped by even the slightest amount.

"It's cold here!" Morinthe insisted, ears twitching downward in annoyance. She tugged it closer around her small shoulders, almost possessively.

They reached the town soon. It was really more of a small city, judging by the size of its walls. They flowed in with the sizable crowd of people gathered in the market, although the intimidation value of the guardians managed to give them a small circle of space around their cart. This was far less populated than the Cross Roads had been, but Solas inched closer to Morinthe regardless.

"This is the only town with an Eluvian in these parts," Morinthe explained softly. "So they come from all around to trade on market day. This city's kind of the economic center of the region."

"The monks do not come only to sell figurines, do they?" Solas inferred.

"No, they don't. This place is only a territory right now, being on the edge of the empire. Many of the people here still don't follow the Enavuris, so they built a temple to promote the faith and give the people here a place to worship, seeing as a lot of them don't have access to Eluvians." Morinthe said, raising her voice to be heard over the din of the crowd.

Had he truly ventured that far away from home? A great deal of it was a blur, for his mind tended to recede away when he shifted to the other form. It was still hard to believe he'd managed to brave that journey without ending up dead out in the wilderness, alone and forgotten.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Morinthe pressed, laying her hand gently on his arm. "You've really been out of it all morning."

"I did not sleep well," Solas lied.

"Hmmp," was Morinthe's only reply.

She quickly skittered around to the front of the cart, where Pavel was carefully eyeing their goods, and she whispered something in his ear. With a bit of pleading, the monk finally nodded. Morinthe's face split with excitement as she bounded back to Solas.

"Be careful! We'll be at the usual spot." Pavel called out after her.

"Come on!" Morinthe urged, tugging at his elbow. She dragged him away from the safety of the ring of temple guardians and into the buzzing tunnel of swishing, colored sleeves.

"Where are we going?" Solas asked, unable to hide the panic in his voice.

"Wherever we want to!" Morinthe said, weaving her way through the crowds.

Again, he had to wonder how it was possible for so many things to be happening at the same time. He was stranded in an echo chamber of vibrations and reverberations of voices, spikes of tael'dirth, jumping and sparking against his skin like light static at one moment and then a heavy wave the next.

Morinthe stopped so suddenly that he nearly crashed into her, one of those wide, bright looks on her face that young children always had when they spotted something that seemed wondrous. It brought tenderness to his lips to see it; she always did try to act so much older than she was.

"Move and you'll have a crick in your neck for a hundred years!" she shouted as she sped off toward a stand. Now that he had something to focus on out of the sensory overload going on all around him, he could smell the center of her fixation. Sugar, fat, and grain. Fried.

She returned, a pastry coated in powdered sugar and wrapped in thin paper clutched in her tiny paws. It was gnarled and knotted like tangled tree roots, ugly but not uninviting. Morinthe pulled a piece off of it and shoved it into his fingers.

"Don't ask, just eat." She commanded, shoving one of her sugar coated fingers into the side of her mouth. "It'll change your life."

Unless she'd suddenly decided to poison him, Solas saw no reason not to oblige her, and he had to agree, his life was definitely made better for it.

"Share it with me. I can never finish one on my own." Morinthe said, flashing him another bright smile. "Pavel would eat five in a sitting if he had the chance!"

"I cannot say I blame him," Solas grunted, pulling off another chunk.

She snorted, giving him a playful shove, only to grab him by the front of his shirt so that he didn't fall into a rather large and frightening looking man shuffling around them.

"Maybe we find a place to sit down," Morinthe surmised, glancing owlishly around. "Oh, do you hear that?"

"What?" he instinctively remarked, straining his ears. Now that she mentioned it, he could, over the din of the crowd, hear a lilting tune.

"The players are town!" She realized, yet another excited grin splitting her face. He was a bit more prepared for it this time when she dragged him away again. For such a tiny thing, she seemed to have the strength of three, immensely hyperactive, men.

She took him to a small outdoor amphitheater, of sorts. In truth, it was simply a few rows of wooden benches surrounding a dirt pit in the middle, but casual nature of their venue didn't seem to matter to the performers in the middle or the absorbed audience.

The only seats left were in the back, but, because the rows were tiered they could still see what was happening below.

In the center stage was a man with a pierced nostril and his long, white-blonde hair slicked back against his head. He sang in a deep baritone, the meter falling from his lips carrying a rhythm that Solas found himself oddly drawn to. The words fell together like a heartbeat, similar to regular speech, but more melodic in how precise it was. Making something extraordinary out of the mundane. He did not have to listen long to find himself entranced.

Of course, there was no much more to it than the poetry alone. There was a band playing as well, mostly stringed instruments. He only recognized a few, one being a small harp cradled in the arm of a tiny, mouse-faced woman, but the others were mostly a mystery to him. The accompaniment spoke more to Morinthe than it did him, if he'd hazard a guess. She'd obviously seen this before as well, judging by the way she cheerfully hummed along to the melody.

Most striking was the way they manipulated their other voices, however. The tale the man sang was of a warrior journeying to reclaim his lost honor at the behest of Elgarnan, and through the Fade he could feel the man's exhausted breaths, indignant rage, and, above all else, burning determination to best his foes. He didn't, personally, align himself with the man's ideals and need to protect his reputation, but he could not deny how intense those feelings were. Problematic story or not, the performance was compelling none the less.

All too soon, however, the pastry was gone, and Morinthe was tugging him again. Solas inadvertently felt a whine rise in the back of his throat as he was reluctantly pulled by his elbow up from his seat.

"It's been longer than I thought," Morinthe insisted. "Pavel's going to kill me!"

"But we haven't gotten to the ending-"

"We'd have to stick around a few days for that, I'm afraid." Morinthe sighed. "These run rather long. Maybe another time."

Solas withheld his groan of annoyance and allowed himself to be led away again. He didn't want to get her into trouble, after all, especially after she'd been nice enough to show him the players in the first place. He'd have to see if he could find anything similar in his dreams, then.

She took him a different way this time, a short cut presumably. Again, he found himself slipping along through back alleys and over walls. He wondered if there was any city this girl hadn't mapped out in her mind as if she'd been born there.

They found themselves in a crowded square again. Although Morinthe tried to keep him going, Solas had to freeze on the spot.

He was, again, intellectually aware of the slave trade. But never could he have imagined brutality like this.

There were dozens of dirty, half-naked, men, women, and children crowded together into the backs of carts, shackles on their hands and feet. There were a few stood up on scaffolds set in the middle of the square, put on display for those participating in the loud, ongoing auction. Their faces were all unmarked, so they'd probably been snatched away from their families and their lives recently.

Morinthe was saying something, pulling at him again, but he couldn't hear her over the white flames that were igniting behind his narrowed eyes as an invisible force drew him closer to the scene. They suppressed their emotions, so much so that the silence was louder than actual screams through the Fade. Fear, horrible biting fear, of the punishment they knew and the unknown torture that would come when they were inevitably taken away and branded in the name of the benevolent, all powerful Enavuris.

The simmering anger did not erupt into explosive hatred until a child was pulled up onto the scaffold. He was perhaps only a little younger than Morinthe, scrawny, though that could be because of undernourishment as well. His starting price was significantly lower than the last, for he probably wasn't capable of much hard labor yet. As he was shoved up the wooden steps, he tripped and fell onto one of the slavers, which nearly knocked the larger man off the scaffold.

No understanding or mercy for the accident was shown. Only swift punishment. The slaver withdrew a black whip and started to lash the boy. All the child could do was cover his head and curl over himself as his bare back was ripped apart.

A guttural growl ripped through his throat. His hands clenched, the lengthening nails biting into the soft flesh of his palms. The bristles longing to be free rippled under his skin, the muscles tightening and the bones shifting all crying out as they longed, pleaded, demanded to see how that bastard would react if _he_ was the one lying on the ground, bleeding out.

"Excuse me, did you need something?" A confused buyer questioned. Somehow, he'd gotten closer than he'd realized. He looked at Solas as if he was the one in the wrong, stepping outside of proper standards. Though this man wasn't the one wielding the whip, he was just as responsible. If there was no one to sell to, slavers wouldn't exist. The fury wanted his blood too, as well as that of every last one of the yelling crowd, cheering on the slaver for putting the boy in his place.

The man could feel it too, the rage trying to claw its way past Solas' skin, and it confused him. It wasn't the kind of anger a man would experience, and it was making the stranger frightened.

"What in the name of-"

"Sorry!" Morinthe blurted, shoving Solas away from the crowd. "My friend isn't feeling well. He's forgotten himself. I plead your forgiveness!"

"It is no matter," the man huffed, sending Solas a firm, but clearly disturbed, look over the top of Morinthe's tiny head. Solas glared back. "Run off now. This is no place for children."

Solas was about to ask why, then, a child was being bartered off like livestock, but Morinthe frantically removed him, shouting more apologies over her shoulder all the while.

She cornered him in a side alley, every bit of levity she'd had before completely gone. Solas wouldn't have thought it possible, but the dagger sharpness and ferocity in those gleaming green eyes were actually intimidating.

"What were you _thinking_?" Morinthe snarled, keeping her voice low only so that they would not be overheard. "Nevermind, I know. You weren't thinking about _anything_. You were too busy being an idiot!"

"Did you not just see-?" He retorted, throwing his hand as if the slavers were still there. However, She'd made sure to get him as far away from that square as she could, it seemed.

"Of course I saw it!" Morinthe snapped. "But there's nothing we can do about it!"

"There damn well is something we can do!" Solas growled. He felt a headache starting to form from the intensity of his glower.

"Nothing that would help anyone." Morinthe corrected, rolling her eyes. "What good do you think gutting a bunch of people in broad daylight would do? It certainly wouldn't stop slaver's whipping their slaves, that's for sure!

"No," she continued, crossing her arms. "You know what would've happened? You would've killed people, lots of people, maybe, but eventually they'd have overpowered you. Wolf or no wolf, you're one person. They'd have killed you, if you were lucky, or dragged you off to be executed for blasphemy in Arlathan. Nobody saved at all, just one more dead fool added to the pile!" Her voice cracked, and she quickly swept at the corners of her eyes to catch the tiny beads that were forming there.

Solas felt himself sobering up immediately, the heat snuffed out as though a bucket of water had been thrown on him. She was right. Of course she was. He'd no plan whatsoever, aside from lunging forward like a mindless beast. This tiny girl had just narrowly diffused a disaster.

"I'm sorry," Solas murmured, unable to even meet her eyes in his shame. "I should've known better than to have…"

Rather than making him look at her, she ducked down to lock her still shiny eyes with his, a small, reassuring smile on her face. "It's okay. We stopped it before it got out of control, that's what matters."

"Your heart was right," she continued as they both straightened up. "But you need to be smarter about things if you want to fix the what's wrongs properly. One dead slaver won't end slavery, you know."

"What will?" Solas asked. Morinthe looked a little taken aback at the earnestness in this question.

"I don't know," she admitted with a shrug. "That's a big question. Guess that's up to you, then, _da fen'harel_ , though I'd be glad to help."

Solas' lip quirked at the nickname. "It is a rather ambitious goal, isn't it? I'll do it though. Watch me."

"I see why your mother called you Pride," Morinthe snorted, twirling around. "We still need to get back to Pavel. He's going to kill me, resurrect me, and then kill me again because of you, as it is. Best not mention what happened for both our sakes."

"Agreed," he said with a curt nod.

They departed at less of a breakneck pace. This morning, now midday, had been enough to tire even Morinthe out, and she said very little as she led him to where the monks were waiting. The silence with which they walked wasn't an uncomfortable one, however.

It seemed Wisdom had been right, yet again. There were indeed friends to be found within the waking world as well.

* * *

 **Whew! That's about ten thousand words squared away for today~ Hope you guys had fun with em'. See ya next week.**


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you certain this is the way?" Solas called for the umpteenth time.

"Yes I'm _certain_ ," Morinthe mimicked, spinning around onto her toes to walk backward for a few steps and stick her tongue out at the boy before righting herself again. Because looking over one's shoulder was for cluts with sore necks.

He didn't see, too busy with his nose shoved in the pages of a book. Nothing new there, really. She ought to know after a whole month spent with this boy, after all. Thankfully, she'd managed to steer him clear of walking into any trees or tumbling into a ravine thus far; however, she may just let him if he asked her that one more time.

"We will be caught if we remain out here too long," Solas remarked, actually looking up from the page this time.

"We're almost there, I swear it!" Morinthe insisted, climbing her way up a steep hill, using some exposed roots as footing. Solas eyed the climb warily, and Morinthe kindly volunteered to hold the book while he clambered after her. He was getting faster, she noted with a smirk.

"We'd have gotten here faster if you'd tried running as the wolf. I wouldn't have had to walk." Morinthe leered, shoving the book back into his hands.

"I'm not a hart," Solas groaned, rolling his eyes. "And are you really still on about that?"

"It's been two weeks and you haven't shown me it once!" Morinthe retorted.

"I am not-" he began, wincing a bit.

Morinthe interrupted him quickly. She hated it when he had that kicked puppy look on his face. Made her feel like she'd just burnt down an orphanage.

"I know, I know. I'm just kidding; do whatever you want."

She wiped the dirt off of her hands on the knees of her pants, glancing around the clearing they'd entered. Good, it was near here, or at least she was pretty sure it was here. Well, either way, she wasn't going to turn back around now. She'd rather march until they reached Arlathan than have to admit she'd taken them the wrong way, at this point.

She could hear the stream, though, and when she was almost certain there'd been water running near it the last time she'd seen it. That had been a few months, or may a year or so ago, but that was aside from the point. It had to be here.

"Completely certain, are we?" Solas drawled, eyebrow raised. The cheeky bastard.

Maybe she had just been standing there for a bit too long, but what did he know?

Morinthe rolled her eyes and marched ahead. He didn't say anything, but she heard him chuckle under his breath.

Yep, definitely going to let him fall off a cliff. Might teach the smug jerk some manners.

She followed the sound of the running water. If it wasn't here, then they could at least follow the river and, hopefully, stumble upon it. If not, well, she could at least try to drown herself to escape the shame.

Luckily enough, it didn't have to come to that.

"Ha! I _told_ you!" Morinthe crowed triumphantly as she sprinted across the shallow river to the tree on the other side.

It was just like the illustration in the book, a massive willow with tiny glowing, blue blooms lining its hanging branches. There was magic here, like everywhere, but especially so. It buzzed and thrummed and jittered on her skin the closer she got to the tree. Despite how far they'd had to come, the ache in her feet was nothing. Morinthe felt like she really could make a dash for Arlathan and be back before supper.

"So you did," Solas chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief as he carefully edged his way across the dry tops of the larger rocks in the stream.

Morinthe reached out and ran one of the branches through her fingers, staring in awe at the pollen-like blue dust it left on her hand.

If the book was to be believed, this tree existed halfway between the physical world and the Fade, part spirit, in a way.

"Slow as usual," Morinthe tutted playfully, swinging the branch around like a whip at her side. Solas swiped his dark auburn hair away from his eyes where it had fallen out of its tie, which was in no way beautiful as the sunlight hit it, illuminating the red highlights. None, whatsoever.

Morinthe also wasn't remotely jealous. Brown was, afterall, the most illustrious and sought after hair color.

Solas ignored her jab and sat cross legged beneath the vines, bringing it closer to his long nose as he jotted little notes into the margins of the book in his lap.

"Oh, you're welcome." Morinthe sighed loudly. "Really, you were doing me a favor. I love getting up to tredge through the woods at the ass crack of dawn with a know-it-all badgering me the whole way. Can't wait for the part where Yeven sets my hair on fire for skipping class."

"Thank you Morinthe," Solas laughed softly.

She couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face, and Morinthe thanked whoever her mother was for giving her dark skin because her cheeks were positively burning. She perched herself on one of the exposed roots, leaning back against the tree trunk while he did his magic, stuff. Morinthe couldn't have understood it if she tried. He seemed happy as a pig rolling in mud,though, so she did feel this had been a successful outing overall.

"Look at this," Solas beckoned, never glancing away from the strange plant in his hand.

Morinthe stood and plopped herself down next to him, trying and failing to see what he was looking at. Seemed the same to her as it had been a moment ago. He waved his hand over it, however, and somehow he seemed to draw some of the glow out, hovering in a tiny cloud above his palm. It darted about frantically at first, but, somehow, Solas managed to calm it.

"What is that?" Morinthe whispered, staring owlishly at it. It was still moving, but a little more gently. Tentatively? She could feel it thinking, so it had to be alive.

"A wisp," he explained. "It exists in a symbiotic relationship with the tree; each helps the other stay strong and healthy. The willow is probably home to thousands of others like it."

"What's its name?" Morinthe asked. She knew very little about spirits, but those she had studied all had those, at least.

Solas shrugged. "It's not quite sentient enough to tell, unfortunately, not immediately anyway. I will have to study it more."

It suddenly started bolting about again, and, while Solas struggled to get a hold of it, the tiny cretin darted down the back of her shirt. Morinthe squawked in shock as it shot down her spine, leaving a chain of static in its wake that traveled along her nerves. She jerked horribly as it sent chills running to the tips of her toes and fingers. Thankfully, it didn't stay long and fizzed its way back to the vine it'd come from.

It was just long enough, however, to send Solas bursting into laughter, she'd daresay nearly in _tears_ at her expense. So, really, it only served him right when she took some of the powder that had collected on her hand and blew it in his stupid, giggling face.

Of course, as she realized only a moment after the fact, this was the wrong thing to do. Even before he'd managed to stop hacking and coughing or to rub the glowing, blue gunk out of his eyes, he was chasing after her. Morinthe held a clear advantage in this fight, though, and she was easily able to trip him over into the stream with a heavy _plunk_. This victory was short lived, however, as he latched onto her ankle and sent her plummeting downward as well.

"Truce!" she sputtered as she tried not to swallow a bit of dead leaf.

"Agreed," he sighed, wringing out his hair.

They just sat there, up to their waists in water, sniggering at the ridiculousness of it all. Solas stood first, and he helped her up next.

"I didn't soak your book, did I?" Morinthe asked. If she did she'd have to feel like a horrible person for the rest of the day.

"No," Solas said, gesturing over his shoulder. She glanced around him. Thank the Creators, she thought. He'd left it under the tree, so she was in the clear to still be annoyed at him.

"This was your fault, so you get to explain what happened." Morinthe surmised, crossing her arms.

"Forgive me," he said rather snidely. "I missed the part where I blew residue into my own face before tripping myself into a stream."

"You _laughed_ at me," Morinthe retorted, turning on her heel and stomping off into the brush. She wasn't angry, really, but it was a matter of principle. She wouldn't go far, and he'd get a chance to gawk at the tree a bit more.

Although it was rather lacking in terms of color and wildlife, the forests around the temple had their merits. The rats with fluffy tails and ugly faces that skittered around over all the trees, bickering and attacking each other, were funny to watch, and sometimes she caught glimpses of the hart-like creatures that traveled in little groups. They were dumber than hart or halla, though, which was why they were hunted rather than tamed. She felt a swelling greed whenever she gazed upon them. She could almost see it when she shut her eyes, the bow grip perfectly still in her fingers as she lined up the shot.

But she was never any closer to that, it seemed. Ashani wouldn't let her even touch a weapon without supervision, much less traipse through the woods after deer.

One day, though, Morinthe promised herself.

She saw something shifting around in the distance. A fox or a badger, perhaps. Most animals were content to live an let live, so if she kept her distance it probably wouldn't bother her.

Morinthe eyed up a gnarled, twisting tree, not huge or small. It looked like the perfect kind for climbing, and she'd fallen out of practice since she'd come here. Morinthe circled it, dragging her fingertips across the scraggly bark as she looked for the best branch to start with.

The brush began to rattle again, more closely this time. Morinthe frowned, glancing backward again. That sounded like something bigger than a badger, and it was moving fast too.

She realized almost too late what was rushing toward her.

* * *

He wasn't worried when Morinthe haughtily marched off into the brush. She'd wander a bit, cool off, and then come back. Solas sat down beneath the vines again, starting where he'd left off. He had been a little disappointed when she'd been so frazzled by the wisp, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed she was only startled. They could try again later.

Solas hadn't worked up the courage yet to tell Morinthe about his dreaming. He'd only ever told his mother when he was very small, and she'd vehemently warned him against revealing it to anyone else. Yet another insult against the gods, it seemed.

In his mind, though, he knew she would probably understand, be thrilled even. Morinthe wasn't very talented herself with magic or the Fade, but she was always eager to absorb anything he was willing to share. It was nice having someone who listened so well as she. Knowing something wasn't the same as actual action, however, and he had more than enough reason to be hesitant.

If anything, his 'natural talents' had seemed, so far, to only hurt himself or others. No one was dead yet, as far as he knew, but a few had come very close. It was no wonder, really, that they drove him out. The temple would eventually as well, he was sure, if they didn't kill him first.

Solas was torn suddenly from his thoughts by a piercing scream.

His thoughts melted into nothing more than adrenaline; he felt the danger and sensed Morinthe's fear more than he was consciously aware of it. He shot up, book forgotten, and rushed through the brambles.

She was perched in the tree, clinging to a shaking branch above the brown, snarling creature. He'd seen one before, knew what it was somewhere in the back of his mind, but that didn't matter. It was a threat and it was going to regret having ever existed.

It happened again, but in a rush he'd only ever felt once. He leapt out of the tight, thin skin restricting him, and then he was sharper, sleeker, stronger. Better to rip, tear, destroy. No more screams, no more fear. He'd make the danger disappear.

He smashed into something heavy and fierce, all muscle and bone and squeals. He sank his claws into its flanks, and his teeth into a wrinkled, dirty snout. It fought, harder than he'd expected it to, thrashing and screaming like a howling storm.

The wind was knocked completely out of him, and he crumbled to the ground. The tree, that tiny voice that thought more than it felt said, he'd been thrown into it. Everything was hazy, shaky, wrong, but the beast was still charging at him. No time to be tired, no time for confusion. He stumbled out of the way before the attacker slammed into the trunk. Another shriek.

There wasn't much time. Desperately, he had to drive off the threat. No more screams, no more fear, he'd make it all safe again. He had to, with everything that he was.

Claws found flesh again, sinking in and rending and pulling apart the creature. All he could smell or taste was the blood and dirt that coated his tongue and face. Some of it was his own, the logical voice whispered fearfully. No matter.

He ripped and tore and beat and pushed and wheezed and bled until the danger stopped moving. The brown thing slumped over, no more vicious now than the leaves or mud crushed beneath it. He prodded it with his nose and claws to make sure all the same.

Even in light of the sun bright, soaring victory, he felt cold and heavy. Too much, the voice cried in terror. You let it hurt you too much. You'll die and then your friends will mourn and curse you.

Oh well, she's alright, he thinks. Safe. Everything would be fine, but he was tired. Too tired to stay on his sticky, red coated feet. So he laid down at the base of the tree, just as the twittering, frightened bird scampered down beside him.

She was still screaming, he realized sadly. Jittering, jumping, leaping terror, and loss, such loss. It was strange to think she cared about him so. He'd missed it since he'd had to run.

He tried to tell her, make her see. 'The danger is gone,' he mouthed. But they were the wrong lips, and this tongue was not clever enough to form words of comfort. He could only manage keening whines, which did not seem to calm her, and his second voice spoke in ways she did not fully understand.

He'd have to change back, then. His smaller voice would be better, make the words she knew. It was hard though, when he felt so miserably heavy. She was his friend, now, and he could not leave her to cry for the sake of tiredness. Going back was far more disjointed, making the spines and the sharp ends recede and become rounded, softer and gentler. It took more focus, more control, but he managed it, somehow.

The words were mostly gurgles, though. Her frantic song started to make more sense, at least.

"Solas!" she cried, shaking him. "Do you hear me?"

He numbly nodded his head, fighting against his drooping eyes. Solas' vision was still spinning from his impact with the tree and, of course, being tossed around by that brutish creature.

"You can't, not here," she insisted, jostling him again. "You've got to stand up Solas. You're too big; I can't carry you."

That made sense, yes. She was a head and a half shorter than him. Clutching the tree with one hand, he put the other round' Morinthe's shoulder, which almost buckled beneath his weight. Solas managed to drag himself off the ground. Walking was another matter altogether.

They stumbled through the woods, leaning awkwardly on each other while Morinthe pressed her weak healing spells into his chest. She eventually had to stop to avoid passing out herself.

Everything seemed as though it were underwater and far away, drifting and turning and disappearing behind the grey blotches in his vision. It was extremely nauseating, and it was a miracle that he didn't vomit on Morinthe.

Somehow they made it back to the temple. A patrolling sentinel caught sight of them, and he hauled Solas inside while Morinthe explained what had happened. The creature had been a wild boar, and a particularly large one.

He lost the fight with exhaustion once the caster's hands were on him, stitching the gouges closed. Solas wondered as he went under if he'd ever awaken again. The darkness was closing in, however, and there wasn't any time for Solas to feel fear.


End file.
